The Darling Mothers
by leggomystego
Summary: OFFICIALLY ABANDONED. thanks to everyone who read & commented!
1. The Four to Twelves

Summary: The fate of the Darling women proves inescapable, even to those who do not have daughters. Three orphans of the Neverland Orphanage are swept away by Peter Pan, despite a Darling's best efforts to prevent just that. This story means to tell of the three orphans' adventures in the Neverland, and the adventures of those who preceded them. This story is based on the book by JM Barrie, not any of the movies.

Disclaimer: While the characters of the Neverland Orphanage are of my own creation, Peter, Smee, Wendy, John, Michael, Wendy's daughter & Wendy's granddaughter are all belonging to JM Barrie. Michael & John's descendants are of my own imagination, too.

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Chapter One: The Four-to-Twelves 

"I won't go to bed! I won't; I won't!" Sylvia leapt from one bed to another, making rounds of the girl's dormitory of the Neverland Orphanage. The other girls squealed with laughter as Sylvia bounced on their beds, their shrieks echoed by the protesting screams of the aging mattresses. "I won't," she cried, joyously, each time she sprang into the air, brandishing a wooden sword; "I won't," she roared, hoarsely, each time she landed, wobbling on the unsteady ground of the next quaking bed; "I won't," she howled, wildly, in the face of the attendants that swooped and dove for her, grasping only the breath of wind she left in her wake. The other girls delighted at the stumbling attendants and jumped up on their own beds, swinging their pillows overhead and joining in Sylvia's riotous chorus: "We won't; we won't; we won't!"

"Well, if you won't go to bed," came a voice that cut through the battlecries, "then you won't need a bedtime story, will you?"

"Oh!" cried the girls, collapsing mid-jump to flop onto their beds, disheveled and desperate. "We will; we will!" They arranged themselves in the manner of quiet, patient little girls, despite their red faces and mussed hair, and turned their bright eyes to Miss Allison, who stood in the doorway, smiling faintly.

Sylvia alone remained upright, staring at Allison with narrowed eyes. Her wooden sword was lowered to her side and she bounced in place on her own bed. She was chewing at her bottom lip and seemed to be thinking carefully.

"What sort of story?" Sylvia asked. The girls gave a collective huff, turning their heads quickly to glare at Sylvia before whipping back to Miss Allison with apologetic smiles. Allison's smile grew bolder and she regarded Sylvia with something like admiration.

However, all she said was: "A good sort." Then, a pause. And: "Provided you go to bed, of course."

Sylvia resumed chewing at her lip, making no move to lie down. Gradually, however, her bouncing slowed to an idle rocking, and though she continued to watch Miss Allison warily, Sylvia sheathed the wooden sword in the torn waistband of her pajamas and sat down on her bed. She nodded at Allison, who inclined her head in return and advanced into the center of the room as if taking the stage from Sylvia. All together, the other girls sighed in relief and looked expectantly at Allison. The two attendants, who had been creeping over to Sylvia's bed in order to catch her if she tried to leap off again, visibly relaxed and seated themselves on a windowsill to hear the story.

Allison smiled at the attendants – Holly, young and freckled and giggly, and Anne, grey-headed and iron-willed – and surveyed the rest of her eager audience fondly. On the eleven beds arranged in the room reclined eleven girls between the ages of four and twelve in eleven identical sets of standard issue blue pajamas. Although Miss Allison did a fairly good job of treating all of the girls at Neverland with equal affection, the four-to-twelves were her favorite children and she loved her visits to the third-story – where they resided – more than all the others. She found babies to be as delightful and sweet as anyone else, but their limited communication skills and yet-to-develop imaginations bored her. They were nice for a time, she thought, but she itched for them to grow up a bit and get to a fun age. The teens she found slightly too grown up, burying their sharpened minds under layers of awkwardness and insecurities. A shame, she thought, that the potential brilliant imaginations were wrapped so tightly in timidity. And then came work and "the real world," to where the playthings and dreams could not follow. But the four-to-twelves were not hindered by such problems and Allison cherished them for it.

There was pretty Melissa, six-years-old, golden-haired and rosy-cheeked, pearly-toothed and honey-voiced – the dream come true of every childless couple that came to Neverland. However, Melissa had yet to find parents that could cope with what Allison called an excellent gift for storytelling, but most prospective parents called "compulsive lying." Melissa took the repeated rejections in stride, inventing stories about the couples that came and went: the Hardwicks, she revealed to the other girls in a low whisper, were in fact a pair of vampires wishing to recruit Melissa into their legion of the undead. The Graysons bathed in parsnip soup ("for reasons unknown," Melissa said mysteriously); the Cartwrights had a son who was born with the wings of a bat and lived alone in the attic; the Evanses did not believe in holidays.

Haughty Hattie was nine and the second prettiest (first by a long shot if you asked her) and not nearly as well-liked as Melissa because she couldn't tell stories and was jealous of a six-year-old, something that both the younger and older girls found inexplicably silly. But they tolerated Hattie because her elaborate fantasies of her own grandeur – fancying herself beautiful Rapunzel or some other pretty princess – were often convincing enough to entertain them all for an afternoon. The shier girls clung to Hattie and followed her closely, agreeing with her every snooty sentiment. This unfortunately only made things worse for Hattie and the shy ones.

Shiest of the shy was twelve-year-old Penny, who only appeared about eight-years-old and whose age was underestimated even by those who knew her best: Allison and the other girls. She was short and skinny and squinted when asked to read off the blackboard during lessons. More than one couple of parents had expressed interest in adopting Penny, but the girl's shyness tended to leave her paralyzed in the presence of strangers. She would collapse into a seat, her hands clasped tight between her knees and her legs twisted in an awkward, pigeon-toed position, and there freeze. Her eyes remained glued to the floor in front of her and she answered any questions or attempts at conversation with only silence. Prospective parents rarely had the patience to try and get past Penny's introversion during their meetings.

Penny was what Allison called a dreamer. What was often taken for a vacancy in Penny's mind was actually a kind of overactivity: while Penny stared at the small area of floor before her, she was filling the space with countless daydream companions who would attempt to make her feel more comfortable in front of the strangers. During lessons, Penny would appear fixated on the blackboard, but when called upon, would blink once or twice as if clearing her eyes and look toward the front of the room with a drowsy expression. She would stare for hours at any given thing – the wheel of the fruit wagon on the street, the distorted reflection of the room in a doorknob, an icicle hanging from the roof of Neverland in the winter – and not notice anything going on around her, but Allison knew that things were unfolding and blooming in Penny's mind. The girls knew it, too, because when they would prompt her with just the right amount of pleading – enough to not embarrass her too greatly – she could tell them about the most fantastic dreams they had ever heard of, the dreams they had always been dreaming themselves but had lacked the eyes with which to see until Penny opened them.

Then there were the adventurers, with whom Allison felt a special kinship. The girls who explored the basement, looking for monsters or treasure; those who saw in every old woman the capacity to be a powerful sorceress; those who looked for mystery and magic in every mundane London day. "Troublemakers" some would call the children that climbed into sewers to hunt for alligators. But, as Allison knew, and as the two biggest troublemakers Neverland had to offer would insist, sometimes trouble just makes itself.

Sylvia and Olivia were the eight-year-olds, affectionately referred to as "the twins" (or "Double Trouble," if the occasion called for it). The title was a joke of the Neverlanders as the twins looked nothing alike: round-cheeked, fair-haired, blue-eyed Olivia was the inverse of scrawny, long-limbed Sylvia, her dark eyes and the wild black curls that refused all attempts of straightening and sleeking. But the two had been inseparable since they had arrived at Neverland, three months apart in the year they both turned six. The day they had established themselves as Double Trouble was only referred to as The Kitchen Incident and still made Anne's lips press into a hard, thin line when mentioned, though it made Allison turn red-faced with suppressed laughter. The girls had embraced the nickname readily, considering themselves twins by choice and therefore the truest kind. They cited the similarity of their names as proof of their certain twinship. The twins were troublemakers of what Allison thought a most delightful sort, offering as evidence the curious, intelligent sparkle in their otherwise different eyes. The aforementioned eyes were currently trained on Allison, along with the eyes of the other girls, silently demanding a story.

Allison pulled a folding chair from one corner of the room into the center and sat down. The girls called it her "Storytelling Chair" and through the course of a bedtime tale, the simple metal and wooden seat was known to take on any number of forms: now, the throne of a wise queen, and later, the broad, leathery back of an elephant carrying an Indian princess through the jungle. The chair had been Tarzan's treehouse, the crow's nest of a ship on the high seas, and, as in one of the girls' favorite stories, Marooner's Rock, from which Tiger Lily was to be swallowed by the tide, only to be rescued by the brave Peter Pan.

It would be a Peter Pan story tonight, Allison thought. Peter Pan stories were the favorites of this lot and Sylvia's energetic display would have put all the girls in a mood to never grow up. But it wasn't just Sylvia who would put the desire for a story of the Neverland in the minds of the girls; it happened that stories about Peter Pan were Allison Darling's specialty.

Let us now trace the path from Peter and Wendy to Allison Darling. It all started, of course, with Wendy, John, and Michael – but chiefly Wendy Darling, the darling mother. Soaring out the window with Tinker Bell and Peter Pan, disappearing to the Neverland and breaking the older Darlings' hearts. But they came back, of course, and Wendy returned once a year to be the darling mother for the spring cleaning. And once Wendy was too grownup to wear her dress from the Neverland, Peter Pan stopped coming to fetch her. And Wendy kept growing up and got married and after these many years, Peter finally returned to Wendy. Only, he had not come to take grownup Wendy back to the Neverland; he had instead come for Wendy's daughter, Jane, to be his mother for the spring cleaning, as long as her youth would last. And when Jane grew up, Peter came for her daughter, Margaret. And then came Margaret's daughter, Emily, who was also visited by Peter Pan.

Ah, here! Here is where Allison Darling became involved with the business of the darling mothers, started by Peter and Wendy. For Allison is not the great-granddaughter of Wendy Darling, as might be expected, but she is close. Wendy Darling was the oldest of three children, having two younger brothers that accompanied her to the Neverland. John was but a few years younger than Wendy and married soon after his sister to raise four well-behaved sons. Michael, though, was very young on his first trip to the Neverland and took his sweet time growing up once they had returned to London. While Wendy was becoming a grandmother, Michael had just recently found himself the father of three children not unlike he and his siblings: one daughter, the oldest, and two sons who were proper, but not nearly as stuffy as John's had turned out. And it was Michael's middle child, George Darling II, who would grow up to become the father of Allison Darling in the same year that Margaret became Emily's mother.

But now we must get back to the four-to-twelves, for they have been waiting very patiently for their story and Sylvia is beginning to sulk just a bit.

"What shall we hear tonight?" Allison asked, gazing at the half-circle of beds before her, a bright-eyed, eager girl waiting on each.

"The Neverland!"

"The Mermaid Lagoon!"

"Pirates!"

"Indians!"

"Tinker Bell and the poison!"

"Captain Hook and the pirates!"

"Tell about Nana the dog!"

"Pirates!"

"Peter Pan! Tell about Peter!"

There was a collective squeal from all the girls, except for two. Sylvia let out an exasperated moan – "Oh, him!" - and flopped back onto her bed, while Olivia in the next bed only giggled and turned her attention back to Allison. It had, of course, been Sylvia rallying for stories of the pirates. After a moment of lying defeated on her back, Sylvia rolled onto her side and turned her pouting face to Allison, who smiled before launching into the story the four-to-twelves knew so well, the story of Peter and Wendy.

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Allison left the four-two-twelves, taking grinning Holly and stern-faced Anne, with wishes of sweet dreams and sound sleep. Anne turned down the lights as she left, letting moonlight flood through the window. The girls chorused "good night" as the door shut and took the last of the bright light with it. A few minutes passed as Allison and the attendants made their way upstairs to the older girls before the four-to-twelves burst into conversation. 

"Oh, that Peter Pan!"

"So brave!"

"So daring!"

"So noble!"

The girls continued to take it in turns to lavish the character in breathless, devoted praise: so clever, so quick, and oh! those pearly first teeth!

"So charming!"

"So selfish! So conceited! So dull," Sylvia offered mockingly, in the same airy voice the other girls had used. The other girls giggled as Sylvia pretended to swoon, tottering weakly across her mattress while fanning herself with one hand and clutching the other to her breast.

Melissa jumped up and mimicked Sylvia, pressing the back of one hand to her forehead. "Oh, that Peter Pan," she moaned in a most convincing imitation of a lovesick admirer.

Olivia, laughing, sprang up on her bed as well. She gave a huge bound and stretched out her limbs so that, for a few airborne seconds, she appeared to be in flight. "Oh, the cleverness of me," she cried, assuming the role of Peter Pan and locking it in with a loud crow. Melissa and Sylvia dropped as if dead onto their beds, with the high-pitched sighs of swooning ladies. The other girls squealed and applauded, delighted by the play.

Sylvia was up again in a second, drawing the wooden sword from the waistband of her pajamas. Swinging the sword over her head in a grand gesture, she leapt from her bed onto Olivia's, raising the other hand to reveal all the fingers folded into a fist but for the one that remained raised and curved into a C-shape. With this "hook," Sylvia swiped at Olivia: Hook lunging to ensnare Peter Pan. Olivia hopped up onto the bedframe and gnashed her teeth at Sylvia, just as Peter Pan would have bared his pearly baby teeth to Captain Hook.

"Proud and insolent youth, have at thee!" Sylvia thrust the wooden sword forward, sliding it neatly between Olivia's arm and her side, where it was caught and held. Olivia gave a gruesome gurgle and staggered from the bedframe, sinking to her knees on the mattress. She reached a hand out to Melissa on the next bed, who seemed to have assumed the role of Wendy and reached back. "Oh, what..." wheezed Olivia, dying from the fatal wound at Sylvia's feet. "Oh...what...of the cleverness...of...me?" This last word was eked out at barely a whisper before Olivia pitched forward and lay motionless, facedown on the mattress: Peter Pan slain by the sword of Captain Hook. Melissa fainted again while Sylvia raised her hooked finger high overhead in triumph and the scene ended to a tumultuous but mixed reaction from the four-to-twelves.

Most of the girls applauded the playacting, fond of the performances that Sylvia and Olivia enacted after nearly every bedtime story. But those who had fawned over Peter Pan just moments before the play threw in boos and grumbles, shaking their heads. Hattie took it upon herself to give a representative voice to the dissatisfied girls.

"How awful!" she cried in a shrill and scolding voice. "As if that rotten Hook could hurt brave Peter!"

"Aye, but he has, me bonnie lass," growled Sylvia, once again playing at Captain Hook. "Hasn't he, Pan?"

This last she inquired of Olivia, still prone at Sylvia's feet. Olivia had raised herself up onto her elbows when Hattie had spoken, but now she flopped back down and closed her eyes, croaking out the side of her mouth: "He has, indeed."

Melissa let out a squeal of laughter and tumbled back onto her bed, giving a few of the other girls the courage to giggle. Hattie glared once around the room before focusing back on Sylvia.

"Everyone knows that Peter killed rotten old Hook!"

There was a flurry of swinging braids as the other girls whipped their heads around to see how Sylvia would handle Hattie's challenge. She smiled at the other girls and shrugged with one shoulder. "Not Peter! The croc killed Hook, and he jumped right to the beast, anyway."

"Ahhh," the girls cooed, and turned back to Hattie expectantly, waiting for the next volley. She glowered at the girls for a moment, puffing out her cheeks and pouting as she stalled for a retort. Finally, she scoffed and murmured something indeterminate – Penny, whose bed was very close to Hattie's, later told the girls that it had sounded something like "Peter is too dashing to be killed by a common, filthy pirate, anyway" – rolling sulkily over so that her back was to Sylvia.

The girls snapped their heads back to Sylvia with indulgent smirks. She grinned and swept an imaginary hat off of her head, bowing deeply. Sheathing her wooden sword, she gathered herself up for a leap, bounding over two beds and springing up again to land directly on top of Hattie.

Hattie screamed piercingly, more startled and angry than hurt for Sylvia had been certain to plant her hands and feet around Hattie rather than on top of her. Neverthless, she shrieked and shoved at Sylvia, who backed off enough that Hattie could shoot up into a sitting position. But before she could shove Sylvia off the bed, Hattie found her arms pinned to her sides by a tight embrace that shocked her into silence. Sylvia squeezed her tightly, then pulled back to kiss her on both cheeks. All the while, Hattie's mouth remained open in the shape of the screams that had left her.

"You'll love me yet, Hattie-dear," Sylvia sweetly assured her petrified captive. She moved to tighten the embrace again, and suddenly Hattie shook off the shock and shoved Sylvia with all her might, sending her heels over head off the bed.

The other girls gasped and bit back giggles, peering down at the dark floor to discern Sylvia's shape amid the shadows. She sprang up, with a triumphant shout that elicited startled shrieks from the other girls, onto her own bed, having crept stealthily along the dark floor. The girls giggled at their own fear, Hattie, and Sylvia, the latter sweeping into another bow as she stood proudly upon her bed. Then she raised the wooden sword with both hands and plunged it down toward her chest, pinning it between her side and her arm. Choking and gurgling, she swayed on the mattress, finally stumbling over her own feet and landing in a heap on her bed.

Her final performance (of this night anyway) was met with a standing ovation, each girl springing to her feet upon her mattress to applaud the motionless Sylvia. Only Hattie remained in her bed, turned stonily away, until she cried out above the noise of the others: "Give it a rest, will you!" The girls all sighed at once and collapsed onto their beds, dissolving into giggles and "good nights" that slowly faded down to only two tired voices.

"Good night, Hattie-dear," Sylvia cooed dreamily.

There was a moment of tight silence in the moonlit room. Then, at last, a voice strained with reservation eked out: "Good night, Sylvia." The tight silence unwound and sleep filled the room of the four-to-twelves, so that not one of the girls could recall seeing the shadow of a small boy slip away from the window, pass over the moon, and disappear into the starry night sky.

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Author's Note: i've only finished this first chapter & i've decided to post it up here before continuing so as to gauge the reaction. if it generates even a tiny bit of interest, i'll continue. if not, i will consent to dream it up in a tangled fashion & play pirate by myself. so, please review! positive or negative: i'll take it. 


	2. The Lost Girls

Summary: The fate of the Darling women proves inescapable, even to those who do not have daughters. Three orphans of the Neverland Orphanage are swept away by Peter Pan, despite a Darling's best efforts to prevent just that. This story means to tell of the three orphans' adventures in the Neverland, and the adventures of those who preceded them. This story is based on the book by JM Barrie, not any of the movies. The rating has been cranked up because later chapters will be dealing with violence & other non-K things.

Disclaimer: While the characters of the Neverland Orphanage are of my own creation, Peter, Smee, Wendy, John, Michael, Wendy's daughter & Wendy's granddaughter are all belonging to JM Barrie. Michael & John's descendants are of my own imagination, too.

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Chapter Two: The Lost Girls 

The fragile truce Hattie and Sylvia had established that night had shattered by the following afternoon, when Hattie proudly tattled to Anne that the twins were snooping around the attic.

"_Exploring_," Sylvia corrected, wrenching her arm from Anne's grasp and flinging herself into a chair across from Allison's desk. She glowered at Anne, who was still holding fast to a stonily silent Olivia, then at Allison seated on the other side of the desk.

"Young lady, the upper floors of this building are off-limits to you and all of the other girls. You two know this rule." Anne's voice was tight, as if she were straining to keep her temper. The twins always seemed to rile Anne more than anything. Allison saw a muscle in Anne's cheek twitch when Olivia freed herself with a violent jerk of her arm and squeezed into the seat beside Sylvia. With a nod, Allison dismissed Anne, who left in a hurry, nearly slamming the door behind her.

Once Anne had left, the twins' expressions noticeably softened from indignant to sulky. They gazed broodingly across the desk at Allison's unsmiling face and she looked back for a quiet moment.

Sighing, Allison disentangled a pair of spectacles from where they had been pushed up into her hair when Anne had rushed in with the girls. Some much needed book-keeping had been interrupted by the sudden clamor of a half a dozen voices. There was Anne, breathless and slightly too proud as she presented the twins like red-handed culprits: "I've caught them prowling about the attic, Miss –"

"_I _caught them, Miss Allison!" That was Hattie, trying to shove her way past Anne and into the office so that her gloating could be better heard.

"Miss Allison," came Penny's soft, timid voice, before it was cut off.

"Hattie, stay back here in the hallway!" And there was Holly, trying in vain to hold Hattie and the other girls back. "I'm so sorry, Miss Allison, I'll keep them outsi-"

"They _had _to go up there, Miss Allison! They saved us all from the prowler!"

"Melissa! There was no prowler!"

"Miss Allis-" Penny again.

"There was, Miss Holly!"

"There was not and _I _caught them!"

"Miss Allison, I-"

"That's enough!" And, unfortunately for Penny, there was Anne again, her sharp voice casting a sudden silence. Holly took advantage of the moment to herd Melissa, Hattie, Penny, and a few of Hattie's hangers-on away from the door, shutting it firmly.

Allison had let her pen drop to the desk and looked expectantly at Anne. Words, for the moment, had been beyond her.

But they were coming back now, as the two dusty girls watched her keenly. Allison eyed the smudges of dirt on their cheeks and standard issue blue uniforms. "Please explain what business you two had in the attic."

If possible, the girls became even sulkier. They recognized easily Allison's voice: it was the tone she used only when she was truly disappointed in the girls, and the only one that truly upset the girls. It would mean shorter stories, but it was really Allison's disappointment that affected the girls. As subtle as she tried to be, the four-to-twelves had a keen suspicion that Miss Allison liked them better than the other girls at the orphanage. For the most part, they did not rub this fact in the faces of the older girls (except when they got particularly uppity), but even in secret they bore Allison's fondness with pride and the thought that they had fallen out of her favor was nearly unbearable. Side by side, the twins sank just a bit lower in their seat, and together they sighed.

"We were just looking around," Olivia began cautiously. Allison kept her face blank as she listened. "It seemed like a perfect opportunity for a first rate adventure, really."

Sylvia picked up here: "The attic, Miss Allison! You know, the teens even say there's a ghost up there?"

"A _girl _ghost!"

"Or a child ghost, anyway. The teens say it giggles and prances."

"They can tell by the thumping."

"I think it's a ghost, but Penny thinks it's Peter Pan. And _Hattie_ –"

"Oh, Hattie!"

"Yes, well, she was just beastly to Penny, and then Ollie –"

"Oh, that's me, Miss Allison," Olivia chirped, unnecessarily. Allison nodded and suppressed a small smile.

"Oh, yes, we call her Ollie."

"And Sylvia is called Sly."

At this, Allison came dangerously close to losing the battle with her smile. "About the attic, girls, if you please," she prompted, quickly clenching her teeth together to control a smirk.

"Sorry, Miss Allison, but it all comes down to Hattie in the end, really."

"Honest, Miss Allison."

"See, Hattie was being just awful to Penny, and after we'd spent so much time getting her to talk to us!"

"She tells wonderful stories, you know. They're nearly as good as Melissa's."

"We call her Pell Mell. She came up with it on her own."

"Girls," Allison sighed, sounding stern but ducking her head to hide the twitching of her mouth.

"Well, so, Penny said this thing about maybe it was Peter Pan in the attic and not a ghost and then Hattie was just terrible to her about it and told her it was a stupid, silly idea and who had ever heard of such a thing and why on earth would she ever say something so dim –"

"And it was terribly rude, Miss Allison, it was. Penny was near tears."

"So, Ollie said that it very well could have been Peter Pan because isn't Peter Pan just as believable as a ghost –"

"And Peter Pan certainly is as believable as a ghost."

"But old Hattie still wouldn't let up on Penny –"

"And it was positively cruel, so –"

"You see –"

"We just _had _to go up to the attic –"

"We _had _to, to shut her up!"

"And, of _course_, she had it all laid out –"

"Like a trap!"

"And went skipping off to Miss Anne just the second we'd got up there –"

"Before we'd even a chance to see if it was a ghost or Peter Pan or what – "

"Or have anything like a real adventure at all!"

"Hattie set us up, Miss Allison."

"And it's hardly fair that we're in here explaining while she's out there dancing –"

"And gloating –"

"And having a time of it –"

"At _our _expense!"

The girls sank back into the seat together and Allison blinked a few times to clear her vision. As different as the girls looked, they were twins enough to blend into one another, especially when they traded sentences as they spoke. They had resumed staring, now anxious for Allison's reaction rather than sulky, and as Allison looked back at them, she realized that she could not say which of the two had finished telling the story.

Allison cleared her throat to break the silence that she feared might have gone on a bit too long. The girls had begun to look more comfortable in their seat and Sylvia had a conspiratory grin blooming on her lips, but the sound from Allison snapped the twins back to anxious and contrite.

"You two know that the attic is off-limits –"

"But Miss Allison –" they began in unison.

"And," she continued firmly, raising her voice just enough to overpower theirs. "You know that it is not restricted because it is hiding ghosts or Peter Pan or any other sort of adventure. It is dangerous for anyone unfamiliar with the attic to be up there. The floorboards are loose and might be rotting. What if one of you had fallen through and hurt yourself? What if one of the other girls had – Penny or Melissa? It isn't safe and, I promise you, that is the _only_ reason you are prevented from going up there. And you _know _that." Allison leaned forward slightly in her seat, looking more intently at the now sober faces of the twins. She observed that their wide eyes were now half-hooded in a disenchanted sort of way and thought to herself that this was her only complaint about the four-to-twelves: the worlds of fantasy and reality were too close together for them. Bright and clever as they might be, they could forget all their common sense for just a hint of adventure. Their imaginations were almost dangerous, Allison thought, and tended to literally run away with them. And the way they could just forget! It frightened her.

But they would learn to remember, she knew, as they grew up. They would learn to be cautious and safe and it would age them. She had seen it happen all her life, to every girl in the orphanage, and to herself. Maybe it was the forgetting that kept you young, she thought, and she smiled ever so slightly at the twins seated before her.

They caught the smile, of course, and their eyes were suddenly bright again, their own lips beginning to curl up in delight. Allison relented and sat back in her chair. "I am very glad that you weren't hurt, girls, but I don't want you two going up to the attic again, no matter _what_ Hattie says."

"Yes, Miss Allison," Olivia cheerfully consented, but Sylvia huffed grumpily. "Can't you do something about Hattie, Miss Allison? She's just so awful to everyone!"

"Hattie is different from you and Olivia, but that doesn't make her awful."

Sylvia huffed again but did not attempt to argue the point any further.

Olivia jumped in as her twin pouted beside her. "Miss Allison, there _are _Lost Girls in the Neverland, aren't there?"

Allison sat up straight very suddenly, startling the twins, and stared hard at Olivia. "Why do you ask that?" Her voice was odd: tight and high-pitched. Olivia seemed reluctant to answer.

"We argued with Hattie about that, you see," said Sylvia, coming out of her momentary sulk to step up for her twin. "Hattie says there can't be any because Peter told Wendy that girls were too clever to fall from their prams. But of course that was all tosh that Peter said to make Wendy tell stories and not be cross and I said as much."

"She told Hattie that not _all _girls were too clever," Olivia chirped, but even as she exchanged a smirk with Sylvia, she eyed Allison warily.

"But Ollie and Penny and Pell Mell think for certain that there must be some Lost Girls – you see, that's what the names are for. They are Lost Girl names. Penny says she has one thought up but she's much too shy to tell us."

"Sly isn't a Lost Girl name, though. Sylvia is a pirate. Though Hattie says there aren't any pirate girls, either."

"And that's all tosh, too. But we figured anyway that we ought to ask you about the Lost Girls, because you know everything there is to know about the Neverland."

Allison gave the girls a small smile, though it was hardly a convincing one. "I'm sure there are Lost Girls and pirate girls in the Neverland. Even though it wasn't very polite, Sylvia, you are probably correct: not all girls are clever."

For what seemed like a joke, the statement fell heavily from Allison's mouth. The twins split a weak, nervous giggle and looked down at their knees, disturbed at the sudden changes Miss Allison had gone through. She had swung quickly from that agitated, tight-voiced state into a glum sort of detachment. The girls were surprised to find themselves relieved when Miss Allison dismissed them with a distracted promise to see to Hattie. They left side by side, making sure their backs were to the closing door of Miss Allison's office when they pulled faces at Hattie, and clattered up the stairs two at a time.

" 'S a shame about the attic, innit?" Olivia said after they had climbed up to the next floor.

Sylvia nodded silently and trained her eyes on the stairs. Her brow was creased with a deep frown, and Olivia knew that meant she was thinking hard about something. She also knew, from past experience, to wait for Sylvia to voice her mind rather than attempt to press it out of her.

Olivia had not long to wait. As the girls reached the third-floor landing, Sylvia brought her heels together with a decisive click and turned her wrinkled face to Olivia. "Didn't Miss Allison act so strangely just before?"

"When we brought up the Lost Girls, you mean?"

"Yes, didn't she seem so queer?"

Olivia nodded. "I don't think I've ever seen her behave like that."

Sylvia's face puckered even tighter upon itself as the frown deepened. "I wonder what could have put her off like that?"

The twins were then interrupted by a clanging bell from the main floor of the orphanage that indicated the beginning of their lessons. Sighing together, they turned and clattered side by side back down the stairs. They were joined as they went by the other four-to-twelves and the older girls, and all of them thundered past Miss Allison's office, but only Sylvia took the half-second to raise her head and frown at the closed door thoughtfully. It was only a half-second, for it was all she could spare as she kept pace with Olivia and the others.

* * *

Allison listened to the distant rumble of the girls' footsteps growing steadily louder as they descended from their dormitories. At first it was like thunder, then like the rushing of a nearby river, and then, as they stampeded past her door, their footsteps were like an earthquake that set the entire room trembling. The spectacles shivered atop the paperwork on Allison's desk and the floorboards conversed with the walls in creaks and moans. Allison slouched in her chair and let the noise surround her, the much needed book-keeping forgotten as she gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Not all girls are clever," she murmured to herself, turning the words over and over in her mind. She had heard them before, once upon a time, and the odd coincidence of Sylvia saying them had pulled Allison into a reminiscent stupor. 

But was it coincidence? Allison wondered. Hadn't Emily said the very same thing that night...that night...

They were eight-year-old girls in matching blue nighties, jumping about the Rochester's nursery with Emily's younger brothers in tow. Allison was climbing to the top of a chest of drawers that served as a mountain to catch a glimpse from above of the Indian camp below. Her wolf cub, played by Jude, the youngest, bounded up panting and leaned against her leg, staring down the mountain and ready to fly at her command. Allison patted Jude-the-wolf-cub's head affectionately and it turned under her hand, attracted by a commotion from another part of the Neverland.

Across the nursery, Emily was engaged in fierce make-believe combat with David, the middle brother. Emily's hair was tied up and stray strands had slipped free to whip about her face as she parried and thrust with fervor. David sneered as he blocked her blows and delivered some of his own, one eye obscured by a scrap of fabric looped about his head as a makeshift eyepatch. He growled and swiped, she dodged and laughed and struck out again, and so on. As they circled the nursery, jumping up onto furniture or diving around it, the fight seemed like an intricate dance to Allison and Jude, who followed the steps carefully from their vantage point on the mountaintop.

"Have at thee, wretch!" Emily cried gleefully. "Come closer! I'll gut you and hang your head on the highest mountain peak!"

"Ye will rue the day you crossed swords with me, Pan!" David snarled, and tripped off of a footstool. "Em!" he whined in a voice very different from the gruff tones he had been using. He looked over his shoulder and scowled up at Emily on the footstool, for it really had been her fault that she had fallen. According to the elaborate steps of their battle, as David had lunged forward, Emily ought to have jumped down from the stool and dodged, allowing him room to spring down after her. But Emily had not dodged or jumped or moved at all. Her imaginary sword had dropped to her side and she stood motionless as David lunged and stumbled. Now, however, she hopped down to offer David a hand and smiled.

"I'm not Peter Pan."

"What are you talking about?" David rose grumpily to his feet and straightened his pajamas.

"You called me Pan. I'm not."

David stooped to pick up his imaginary sword before answering. "Well, who else would you be?"

"I'm a Lost Girl," Emily replied, puffing out her chest and raising her chin proudly.

"What?" David guffawed. He looked from Emily to Allison and Jude, who now stood beside the footstool, with a disbelieving smile. "There aren't any Lost Girls!"

"Of course there are! If there are Lost Boys, there must be Lost Girls!"

"Well, who would lead them?" David scoffed.

"A Lost Girl, I imagine," was Emily's scathing reply.

David rolled his eyes but seemed stumped. "Well – but – didn't Peter tell Wendy there weren't any?"

"Um –" Emily faltered, but cut David off in the middle of a triumphant smirk. "Did he, Allison?" she asked, turning to her cousin. David looked to Allison, as well, and Jude tilted his head to look up at her from where he sat, on his haunches at her feet.

Allison was acknowledged as the official storyteller of the cousins and the keeper of all the knowledge of the Neverland. The stories had been in the family, of course, for generations, but Allison had shown a keen interest in gathering and retelling the stories to her cousins, particularly if she was allowed to sit on the window seat while they lay drowsy and warm under their covers. She was especially fond of smoothing down the comforters of the boys' bed before slipping into the bed she shared with Emily. "Think happy thoughts and we will all meet in the Neverland," she whispered to them all before lying down, and the four of them would dream of the pirates and Indians and Peter himself. And Allison would dream mostly of sitting on a tree stump in the home of the Lost Boys, with a dozen round faces turned toward her, hanging on every word of every story she told.

So it was with a steady gaze that Allison fixed each of her cousins, taking in Jude's mild interest, David's consternation, and the strange, wild brightness of Emily's eyes. She turned the story of Peter and Wendy over in her mind.

"Well," she began slowly. "Peter _did _tell Wendy that girls were far too clever to fall from their prams and become Lost –"

"There, you see!" David jumped in, turning to Emily. "You see, he said it himself! There aren't any Lost Girls!"

"_But_," Allison pressed on, shooting David a stern look; "Peter was flattering Wendy when he said it. She'd been upset, remember?"

"Besides, not _all _girls are clever," Emily said smugly. David looked cross as he sheathed his imaginary sword.

"That's quite a compliment you've paid yourself, Em," he growled, sulking off to the other side of the nursery.

It was then that they heard the laughter.

Emily's retort died in her open mouth as all heads turned to the window, from which everyone could swear they had heard the giggle of a child no older than Jude. There was no room for fear in their anxious hearts that had leapt at the joyful sound, and they waited eagerly for the face they knew would appear: they knew from the stories and they knew from the elation blooming inside them.

And suddenly, to their delight, the window flew open as if blown by an intrusive wind and Peter broke through.

Allison could today remember him clearly as she had seen him those years ago, standing proudly in the air just above the window seat. No older than six – Jude's age – and everything about him boyish and soft: the roundness of his freckled cheeks, the plump arms and legs forever held in a state of just beginning to lengthen and harden into muscle, and most attractively the gleaming pearls of the first teeth he would have for all time bared in a bold smile. Allison had not missed, however, the glinting silver of the blade tucked into his belt, the incongruous touch of adulthood marring his childish ensemble. Her eyes could not long be kept from his face, however, or his blue eyes that shone with a wildness similar to that she had seen in Emily's just moments before. But Emily's eyes had shown but a flicker compared to the bottomless feral youthfulness of Peter's. They sparkled with mischief, Allison had thought, though it may have been a reflection of the fairy fluttering around Peter's shoulders.

They had left with him at once, naturally. It was all but expected of the children in their family, for which Peter Pan and the Neverland were not merely entertaining stories but tradition. And the Rochester children and Allison did the family legacy proud, sporting about the Neverland for weeks. It is remarkable that they did not stay longer, for of course they found all of their dreams waiting for them on the island. Jude ran with a pack of wolf cubs on all fours and became a wild thing, even napping beside the wolf mother in the afternoon. Only Allison's soothing voice could turn him from wolf into boy again, and only at bedtime. David took advantage of his brother's newfound animalistic traits to sneak close to the far side of the island, where he could gaze from afar at the pirate village in the valley below. With a new and much more convincing eyepatch gifted him by Peter (one of his many pirate trophies), David would stare longingly at the finely dressed captains and dirty bosuns as they strolled the cobbled streets. The raucous singing from a grimy pub thrilled him and he was intrigued by the richly dressed ladies that giggled and fawned over even the most unwashed of the pirates. Emily, meanwhile, found an unusually amicable fairy by the name of Ember who helped her locate the Lost Girls. There were a handful, more than anyone had expected to see: Peter, like David, had scoffed at the idea of Lost Girls at all, saying that he had never run into any. But Emily and Ember rounded them up from every corner of the island, flushing them out of hiding in ones and twos and threes until the girl and the fairy had scrounged up ten very lost Lost Girls and couldn't find anymore. The youngest two were four-year-old twins and the oldest was a waifish twelve-year-old and, as they had no leader, they took to Emily immediately and were as dutiful to this eleventh Lost Girl as the Lost Boys were to Peter. Peter himself grudgingly accepted Emily and the Lost Girls, allowing them to come along on his adventures with the Lost Boys and even joining in on some of their own adventures, as recompense for giving them room and board in the house under the trees.

It was in that house that Allison found her Neverland dream had indeed come true. With the nine Lost Boys, Jude, David, Peter, Emily, and the ten Lost Girls, Allison had so many faces turned toward her each night, so many ears hanging on every word of her story, and so many covers to smooth before whispering a good night that she was nearly always dizzy with happiness. She gloried in being a darling mother to all the Lost Boys and Girls; rejoiced in mending their leaf frocks with the juice from new plants; delighted in preparing pretend meals for her many children. It is a wonder the four cousins returned to London at all when even Allison could hardly bear to be torn away from the Neverland.

But back they flew, David and Allison each holding fast to one of Jude's arms as the wolf-boy howled and writhed and struggled to break free and return to his pack. Emily and Peter flew far ahead, their shapes barely discernible in the night sky from where the others soared steadily onward. Without the lights of their fairies dancing around the two children, Allison and David would surely have been lost.

The nursery window was open, of course, because the grownups knew their part as well as the children had known theirs. In the four cousins had tumbled, giggling breathlessly as they burrowed under the covers. Jude's howls had faded to whimpers by they time they had passed over the primary school and he was now grinning at the familiar sight of the nursery walls around him. "Won't they be happy to see us in the morning?" he had mused. "Yes, let's get on to sleep and they'll be so surprised, like we'd never left!" Emily had sounded so happy to be back that they all fell asleep without waiting for Allison's good night.

The grownups were, as predicted, beside themselves with excitement to find their children had returned to the nursery. "But where's Emily?" Mrs. Rochester had asked, once Jude's face had been thoroughly covered in kisses. Allison still remembered the awful, slow fading of every smile as Emily's absence from the nursery grew more pronounced. All eyes were on the window, which hung open and pointed like an arrow to where the second star to right would be seen if it were not morning. "She is a Lost Girl, I guess," Allison had said, and allowed her father to pick her up and carry her home.

* * *

Allison sighed, picking up the spectacles from her desk and toying with them idly. A moment later, she tossed them back onto the paperwork and pushed herself out of the chair, stalking toward the window. There was no seat, but she perched on the rather broad sill and peered out at the bright, grey afternoon. It had been like this when Emily had come back again, she remembered.

* * *

Emily had been in the Neverland for eleven years, while Allison had spent those years growing up. She was away at university when the dormitory phone rang and a breathless fresher had rushed to her door, claiming there to be an emergency at home. Her father's voice had cracked when he told her: "Emily's come home." 

She was more of a lost girl back in London than she had ever been in the Neverland, it seemed. The look on her face when Allison had finally arrived back at the Rochesters' almost made Allison wish her cousin had never come back at all. Emily looked horrified, as if Allison had committed the ultimate betrayal by growing up. And Allison could only feel pity for the eight-year-old girl who looked just the same as she had the night she deceived them all and slipped back to the Neverland. Why had she come back at all, after all this time? Allison had asked. "I missed you," Emily replied, blushing fiercely and looking hard at the floor. Allison had fought the urge to sweep Emily into her arms and rock her like a child.

But she _was _a child, and she had every right to behave and be treated as one. Mr. and Mrs. Rochester were grey-haired parents sitting on an empty nest: Jude and David both off at boarding school and Emily a tragedy they had just begun to move past. How bewildering for her to return and find that everything had moved past her.

Emily stayed only for a month. The night she left again, Allison and the Rochesters had a rather loud argument about what was "to be done" with Emily. Allison felt it was obvious that she belonged with her parents, in the nursery she knew. But Mr. and Mrs. Rochester had grown accustomed to the solitary life. They were done with raising children, they said. They had raised theirs. Mr. Rochester suggested that Emily stay with Allison. "What am I to do with a child! We are not expected to have children until after university, Uncle David!" Allison's outburst was followed by the pounding of small feet on the stairs to the nursery, then the sound of the window crashing open. Allison had raced up after Emily and arrived at the window just in time to glimpse the rapidly shrinking speck of white that was a girl in her nightgown, flying away to the Neverland. "_Mea culpa_," Allison had murmured, sinking to the window seat with her eyes trained on the speck. She had had a classical education.

Allison returned to university and afterward devoted herself to lost girls in London. She had never had children of her own, too wary of the Darling family legacy to risk losing them. Instead, she rounded up the lost girls of the city much like Ember and Emily had sought out those in the Neverland. Each night, they turned their faces to her and hung on every word of every story, and she searched their eyes for the glint of wildness that had sparkled in Emily's the night Peter broke through. She did not think she could bear to lose another girl.

* * *

The bell that declared the end of lessons and the beginning of dinner sounded through the quiet halls, jerking Allison away from her memories. She rose from the windowsill as the sound roaring flood of the girls pouring into the hallways below filled her ears.

* * *

Note: To my reviewers, thank you so much! You guys are the reason I finally got this second bit finished & up, & I'm off to finish up the next piece right away. Keep reading & reviewing, guys: I need you! 


	3. The Flight

Summary: The fate of the Darling women proves inescapable, even to those who do not have daughters. Three orphans of the Neverland Orphanage are swept away by Peter Pan, despite a Darling's best efforts to prevent just that. This story means to tell of the three orphans' adventures in the Neverland, and the adventures of those who preceded them. This story is based on the book by JM Barrie, not any of the movies. The rating has been cranked up because later chapters will be dealing with violence & other non-K things.

Disclaimer: While the characters of the Neverland Orphanage are of my own creation, Peter, Smee, Wendy, John, Michael, Wendy's daughter & Wendy's granddaughter are all belonging to JM Barrie. Michael & John's descendants are of my own imagination, too.

* * *

Chapter Three: The Flight 

The story that evening was a brief tale about the mermaids in the Neverland. Allison had considered avoiding a Peter Pan story, but she did not want to involve herself in an argument with the four-to-twelves. The girls were unusually subdued when Allison entered their dormitory. The twins were lying head-to-toe on Olivia's bed, talking to each other in a sign-language they had developed together. It was not a very effective way of communicating, they had told Allison once, but the crude gestures were very useful when one twin needed to tell the other something without speaking. Allison had seen them use bits of the language when Anne had apprehended them and trapped them on either side of her. The twins had also told Allison that the best use of the sign-language was aggravating Hattie. Allison noticed Hattie watching the twins with narrowed eyes from across the dormitory as they gestured at each other. They paused when Allison came in, turning their heads to the door along with the other girls. Sylvia slid off of Olivia's bed and climbed onto her own, rather than hopping from one mattress to the other as she normally would have. She drew a final gesture toward Olivia as she settled back against her pillow, spreading her fingers out and showing Olivia her palm, then rotating her wrist quickly as the fingers closed into a fist. It looked like she was snatching at the air and could easily be mistaken for an attempt at grabbing a bothersome fly, but Allison had seen it often enough to recognize it as a kind of goodbye. It was actually an interruption, used to warn one another when someone else was approaching or cut one another off. Sylvia dropped her fist into her lap and directed a bright, false smile at Hattie, who pulled a face that was quickly transformed into an adoring look as she turned toward Allison.

Allison was also strangely quiet and it did not escape the notice of the girls. They kept their eyes on Allison as she pulled the chair into the center of the room, looking puzzled but also further pacified by her quietness. The twins exchanged a knowing look and Hattie, whose eyes had strayed back to them, scowled at them. But they were soon devoting their attention to Allison, for even detached and subdued, she could work the magic that transformed the chair into Marooner's Rock and cast the salty smell of the sea throughout the dormitory. The moonlight spilling onto the dormitory floor rippled as if it were the surface of the water and the girls felt themselves being rocked to sleep as their beds bobbed like boats. Even after Allison left the drowsy girls, the mournful music of the mermaids floated through the dormitory like an eerie lullaby.

* * *

When Sylvia awoke, the air had lost its salty smell and the mermaid music had been replaced by a new sound in the dormitory: the faint tinkling of a small bell. She bolted upright, one fist already closed around the wooden sword under her pillow, but Olivia caught her eye with the quieting gesture. Sylvia looked at her twin, frowning. Olivia's eyes were wide and alert as she pointed up. Sylvia directed her gaze to follow Olivia's finger and felt her jaw go slack. 

Melissa was turning circles in the air above the sleeping four-to-twelves, smiling and holding onto the hand of a sandy-haired boy, no more than six and clad in leaves so freshly green that it seemed to Sylvia she had never before seen the proper color.

"Pan," she whispered to herself. Beside her, Olivia was smiling. Then she heard the bells again.

A small yellow light, like a firefly that did not blink, danced in front of Sylvia's face and it was from this that the tinkling noise came. It chimed and pulled loops in the air and Sylvia and Olivia followed its dizzying path with wide eyes.

"A fairy," Olivia breathed, leaning nearer to the dancing light.

"She'll bite your nose off if you give her the chance," came a voice from behind Olivia that made both twins jump in a combination of surprise and delight. There was a wild, joyful ring in each word that made the twins' hearts leap in their chests. Sylvia felt the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up with a joy that was strangely entangled in fear, just as the voice had been both elating and terrifying. They knew from their own reactions who the speaker was before they even turned.

He was enchantingly adorable: his small face round and soft, freckles spattered across his nose, and the gleaming pearls of all his first teeth in his smile. But the girls glanced up from his dimpled cheeks to the shining blue eyes where an unexpected ferocity was glowing alongside his youth. The glint of silver at his hip – a small but very real blade – echoed the danger lying beside the joy in his eyes.

Over his shoulder, Melissa was still dancing and spinning through the air. Sylvia stared at her in wonder until the fairy's light streaking toward Peter drew her eyes back to him. He was hovering in the air just above Olivia's bed and turned his head to the fairy as it tinkled and glowed. Olivia was transfixed, staring at Peter in wonder and rising onto her knees to place herself at eye level. Peter turned suddenly, regarding Olivia with puzzled amusement as if he had never seen anything like her.

"What does she say?" Olivia asked, her voice a hoarse whisper of excitement.

"What, Glim?" he replied, jerking his head in the fairy's direction. "She says I ought to just pick a mother and go before I have to take all of you with me."

"Who will you pick?"

"That depends on who tells the best stories, besides that lady." Here Peter made a face of disgust and gnashed his shining pearls

"Well, Pell Mell does tell very good stories," Olivia began.

"But Penny's awful good, too –"

"And Sly's just great –"

"Ollie's better –"

"Gosh, even Hattie's not half-bad. She knows all of your stories –"

Peter had followed the twins volley of words with growing dismay filling his eyes and now he interrupted them with a heavy sigh. "I suppose I will have to take all of you," he moaned, and tipped over, sprawling in the air above Olivia's bed.

The fairy's angry tinkling was drowned out by a squeal from the other side of the dormitory. Melissa, fortunately flying over her own bed, was startled out of the air and fell to the mattress. She joined Peter and the twins in whipping around to find the source of the noise and laughed aloud to see that Penny had leapt out of bed and was dancing on her mattress. "The Neverland," she cheered in a voice unlike her usual timid whisper. "We're going to the Neverland!"

"Oh, Peter, how wonderful," Hattie cried, sliding out of bed and scampering over to Peter. He raised himself up on one elbow and looked down at her thoughtfully. She smiled in what she must have thought was a very fetching way, though it looked more to Sylvia like she was baring her teeth. Peter put his head to one side and looked puzzled while Hattie continued to beam at him. The fairy was glowing bright orange at Peter's shoulder, but before she could attack Hattie, Melissa grabbed her in one hand and gathered herself up for a great jump off of the bed. The other girls watched in amazement as Melissa rose in the air and remained aloft. She pulled an uncertain loop over their heads, laughing in surprise to find herself right side up and still airborne in the end. The girls ooh-ed and applauded, and Melissa grinned, their praise making her bolder, and spun in place over their heads like a ballerina, showing off much to the girls' delight. Not to be outdone, Peter soared through the air to Melissa's side. The girls gasped below them. "It's Peter Pan!" they squealed to one another.

Peter puffed out his chest proudly and struck a bold pose in the air, hands on his hips and chin raised. There was gasping and cheering from most of the girls, the loudest from Hattie. Olivia chuckled good-naturedly and cast a sidelong look at Sylvia, who was looking up at Peter with a dubious smirk: she seemed unimpressed, but the boy's allure was irresistible and she could not help feeling the thrill his presence inspired.

Melissa now unfurled her fist to reveal the glowing red light of the fairy. She did not seem pleased, but Melissa smiled sweetly at the angry ball of light. "A bit of fairy dust, if you don't mind, Miss Glimmer Bell," she cooed, soaring over the beds of the girls and sprinkling the fairy's glittering powder onto their upturned faces.

Sylvia watched the dust float down to her and held her breath, waiting for it to settle over her. A strange feeling began working through her, like the beginnings of a sneeze that started much deeper than the back of her nose. She sprang up from the bed, grabbing Olivia's hand. "Happy thoughts, Ollie!" she breathed and they rose swiftly, weightlessly into the air above them. There was a moment of incredulous floating – we can fly, we can _fly_, the twins thought, smiling wordlessly at each other, squeezing each other's hands tightly – before Melissa swooped by them, giggling, and seized Olivia's other hand. They were pulled along, seizing Penny next and adding her to the chain, circling around Hattie, who looked terrified to be off the ground and clutched desperately at two of her devotees. They floundered in the air and nearly fell when the four girls swept past them, but Penny grabbed at them and tugged them along. They circled the dormitory, lengthening the chain, until all of the four-to-twelves had joined hands and formed a giggly, breathless, bright-eyed circle around Peter and the much calmer Glimmer Bell.

"Are you really going to take us to the Neverland, Peter?" Penny asked, her new boldness yet to give way to the usual shyness.

Peter nodded, sending a ripple of delighted gasps around the circle of hovering girls.

"_All_ of us?"

"If one mother is good, this many mothers must be better," Peter said with an air of finality. Hattie nodded fervently, still clinging tightly to her friends but seeming eager to prove what a good mother she could be. Sylvia narrowed her eyes thoughtfully but said nothing; the idea of going to the Neverland was too exciting.

"Well, what are we waiting for," Olivia cried, and the girls cheered, still holding hands as they flew to the window in a streaming line of four-to-twelves in standard issue pajamas.

"Oh, wait!" Sylvia suddenly broke away and swooped toward her bed, where the precious wooden sword had been dropped when she first took off.

"What good will that stick be in the Neverland?" Hattie sneered.

Peter took the wooden sword from Sylvia, hefting it from the hilt and peering down the length of the blade. He tossed the sword in the air, catching it so that the hilt faced Sylvia. He offered it to her. "It will do," he said with a nod as she took it. Smiling smugly at Hattie, Sylvia tucked the sword into the waistband of her pajama bottoms and took Olivia and Melissa by the hand again. With Peter and Glimmer Bell at the lead, the four-to-twelves soared out the dormitory window and over sleeping London, all eyes locked on the second star to the right. As their many silhouettes, joined at the hands, stretched across the moon like a chain of so many paper dolls, they heard the mermaid music ringing clearly through the night, spurring them on toward the Neverland.

* * *

In her quarters on the fifth floor, Allison woke from a restless sleep and kicked off the bed sheets that had tangled around her legs. She felt feverish, hot and cold at once, and shivered once she was free of the sheets, still sweating in her nightdress. She rolled over onto her stomach, pressing her face into the cool place between the pillows and moaning, "Emily, Emily, I'm sorry." As always, there was no answer, though she strained her ears and held her breath for a moment, wishing for some sign that she had been heard. The silence stretched on until Allison's lungs hurt and she exhaled heavily, her breath warming the cool pocket between the pillows. With another restless toss, she shoved herself out of the bed and shuffled barefoot across the cold floor to the window. Kneeling on the sill, she pressed her forehead to the cool pane of glass and looked up into the quiet night. Automatically, she sought out the second star to the right, the point to which her eyes had been drawn every night since she was a child. She shivered as the familiar image of Emily returning alone to the Neverland flickered across the sky. It was a dream, more like a nightmare, that had long haunted Allison: Emily lurching unsteadily through the air, her dressing gown hanging open and streaming out behind her like a cape so that some restless child looking out at the sky thinks a superhero is soaring overhead. But it is only a sad, lost girl, crying and hiccupping and sniffling as she bobs and weaves her way back to the Neverland, while Allison stands frozen in the nursery window, staring after Emily and whispering to herself "_Mea culpa_." 

As the imagined silhouette of Emily passed over the moon, the dream blurred and tore, the shadow split into a chain of shadows soaring past the moon. Allison stared up at what looked like a string of paper dolls cut through the moonlight and for a moment, she thought she was dreaming again. But as she counted the number of silhouettes as they passed, realization spread icily through her. She shivered again, this time feeling the cold in her very bones, and threw herself away from the window, stumbling backwards across the floor. Awkwardly, half-falling, she turned and nearly twisted her ankle, lurched for the door, flung it open and hurtled out into the hallway. She pounded with an open hand on the door next to hers and the one after that, but she did not stop to see them opened as she hurried toward the stairs. Holly and Anne poked their heads out just in time to see Allison bounding down the stairs and follow, pulling their dressing gowns on as they went. Allison was a full flight of stairs ahead of them by the time they reached the fourth floor, but they could hear her feet pounding against the steps ahead. Holly jumped as the door of the four-to-twelves' dormitory banged hard against the wall. Anne paused on the stairs and turned over her shoulder to Holly, looking, for the first time that the younger woman could remember, frightened. Holly did not dwell on that, though, and pushed past Anne, grabbing the older woman's arm and pulling her along to the third floor.

Allison was standing in the door, gripping the doorframe tightly as if she might fall if she let go. Anne and Holly drew up short upon seeing her; she looked positively terrifying, her hair loose and moving eerily in the breeze from the room as she sagged against the doorframe. She had bolted from the bedroom without putting on a dressing gown and the night dress left her arms and legs bare. In the bright moonlight from the dormitory, her limbs were an unearthly pale and it took Holly a moment to tear herself away from the eerie sight and usher the curious older girls back into their dormitory, as their sleepy heads began to appear in their doorway.

"M-Miss Allison?" Anne asked timidly, clutching her dressing gown in both fists as if for support.

Allison turned to Anne, her face white like porcelain in the moonlight. Her eyes were strangely, feverishly bright with standing tears and Anne trembled as they locked on hers. "They've gone," Allison rasped. "He took all of them."

"What? Who?" Anne whispered, taking a step toward Allison. But she released the doorframe from her tight grip and lurched forward into the dormitory. Anne scampered after, gasping aloud at the eleven empty beds.

"Where are they?" Holly squeaked. Anne looked back helplessly. Holly stood in the center of the room, where Allison had sat to tell the girls their story only hours ago, shivering as she gazed around the moonlit room. Full of the ghostly light and empty beds, the room seemed bigger than usual. There was a cold, lonely air that pressed down around Anne and Holly. They shuffled closer together until their shoulders nearly touched and stood in each other's warmth, surveying the room nervously. Bewildered, they turned to Allison.

She was standing at the window as if she had no knowledge of their presence, solidly balanced on her feet without leaning on the sill. Her eyes were fixed on some distant point in the sky and Holly had to call her five times, each time drawing nearer and nearer, until Allison looked round.

"The girls, Miss Allison. Where are the girls?"

Allison blinked at Holly and stayed silent for a moment. "I suppose he's taken them," she sighed, turning back to the window.

"Who has taken them? Where?"

"Peter Pan," she shrugged. "To the Neverland."

Anne and Holly exchanged a look behind Allison's back. "Um, Miss –"

"I never thought he would come for them. I'd hoped he wouldn't. Oh, why couldn't David or Jude have had daughters?" Allison was ignoring Anne and Holly, mumbling to herself at the window. Holly looked imploringly at Anne.

"Miss Allison," Anne said nervously. "Shouldn't we alert the police?"

"What for?" Allison turned her back to the window and fixed her glittering eyes on Anne, whose fists twisted the dressing gown fearfully. Her voice shook as she replied.

"To – to find the girls, Miss."

Allison smiled wryly and shook her head. "The police cannot fly, Anne. No, we'll have to wait. The girls will come back. They know their part of the story." Allison pushed away from the window and brushed past Holly and Anne. They followed her, shivering. She fluffed the pillow of the bed nearest the window – Penny's – and smoothed down the covers. "We have to remember ours." There was a moment of silence before she looked up, her eyes devoid of the wild gleam that had frightened Anne and Holly so much. She seemed more alert, like her usual self, as she instructed the bewildered attendants.

"I must go on an errand. I will leave first thing tomorrow morning. While I am gone, you are to tell the other girls that I have taken the four-to-twelves abroad. Keep their absence secret to all. You must tell no one: not the other girls, not the grocer, especially not the police. You must not even speak to each other about this night. There is to be no gossip, no whispering, no speculating. The girls are abroad, and they will return shortly." She paused and looked at Anne and Holly with a familiar air of control that settled them a little, though they still seemed shaken and overwhelmed. Allison managed a small, brave smile. "They will return," she assured them, placing a hand on the shoulder of each. Their smiles were weak and reluctant, but they allowed Allison to steer them back upstairs to their quarters. Each of the three women shut their doors firmly and slipped under their faintly warm covers, settling back into the embrace of sleep. Allison rested with her eyes closed, making arrangements for the morning in her head until she lapsed into a placid state somewhere between sleeping and waking. But Anne and Holly each lay awake, watching the rooms grow gradually brighter as the sun began its slow rise and wondering, worrying: where were the girls?

* * *

and now a word from our author: so, i've finally decided to sit down & work out some kind of time frame for this piece, because, as my lovely reviewers have pointed out, this reads sort of Barrie-esque. & while that greatly honors me, it also called into question when exactly i was setting this. in the first chapter, i designated that Allison is the cousin of Wendy's great-granddaughter. so, obviously, this is not 1900 & after some half-caff "calculations" in the margin of my notes, i've worked out that this story takes place in the early to mid-1970s. so, there you go. this will start to figure in as the characters that remain in London get a little bit more development. on that note, i want to thank all of my reviewers for being so kind & supportive, & to apologize to anyone who wanted this story to continue for keeping you waiting. & also, apologies for this chapter, which seems a bit cramped to me. it's better than the first few drafts, which doesn't say much for me, but hey. so: thanks! & stay tuned! more to come soon. 


	4. Gossip and Stories

Summary: The fate of the Darling women proves inescapable, even to those who do not have daughters. Three orphans of the Neverland Orphanage are swept away by Peter Pan, despite a Darling's best efforts to prevent just that. This story means to tell of the three orphans' adventures in the Neverland, and the adventures of those who preceded them. This story is based on the book by JM Barrie, not any of the movies. The rating has been cranked up because later chapters will be dealing with violence & other non-K things.

Disclaimer: While the characters of the Neverland Orphanage are of my own creation, Peter, Smee, Wendy, John, Michael, Wendy's daughter & Wendy's granddaughter are all belonging to JM Barrie. Michael & John's descendants are of my own imagination, too.

* * *

Chapter Four: Gossip & Stories 

Allison left the Neverland Orphanage just before breakfast. The teens watched from their dormitory window as she pulled up the collar of her coat against the autumn wind and climbed into the front seat of a long van parked in front of the building. They gaped at the sight of Allison in clothes they had never seen. They were accustomed to her in the aproned dress she wore everyday; like their own uniforms, the dress was standard-issue blue with "Neverland Orphanage" embroidered on the breast. The traveling dress she wore now had a hemline above the knee and was a serious, sophisticated brown, a far cry from standard-issue blue.

The van was new to them, as well. They stared hard at the tinted windows, imagining they saw the solid shapes of people moving inside until Holly called them away from the window. They started dreamily at her voice, staring back at Holly in the doorway like they did not recognize her. Allison had always called them down for breakfast. In their confusion, they did not notice Holly's cheerful smile twitch and almost, for the briefest moment, falter. She fixed it quickly and stepped into the room, laughing with carefully applied merriment at the bewildered teens huddled at the window.

"You'll miss breakfast if Miss Anne has anything to say about it," Holly sang out, shaking her head playfully at them. The scene was rather pathetic, the girls crowded together like a single knot of confusion, eyeing Holly warily. But they liked Holly: she was younger than Allison, considerably younger than Anne, and indulged the teens' desire for the trendy and fashionable. She had shown them, by their special request and with Allison's special permission, how to sew their own bell-bottom slacks from standard-issue blue fabric (though Allison was not as lenient when it came to the much admired platforms Holly donned on her off-days), and always brought them gifts from her weekends off. One week she had brought bolts of fabric from a store that had readily donated the scraps for the "poor dears," and she often returned with sweets and magazines. And there was the legendary Sunday when she had led to the fourth floor a helpful street boy lugging an outdated but fully functional record player and a cardboard box full of records. A lucky find at a garage sale, Holly boasted. The teens argued over which was the real lucky find: the record player or the slightly dirty yet still pleasant to look at boy. Ever since that day, the teens had put extra effort into their grooming and primping on Sundays, and they always wore the clothes they had made from the donated fabric, lounging in careful, pretty poses around the dormitory.

The teens were fond of crowding into Holly's quarters as she prepared for a weekend off, watching with envious, adoring eyes as she brushed out her long hair. It was kept tightly bound and up during the week, but Holly always let it down for the weekend, unlike Anne and her eternal iron-grey bun. Holly's hair was golden and thick and fell past her waist, and as the teens watched Holly easing the comb through it, they imagined her like Rapunzel standing at her tower window, for even though they were certainly Too Old for such fancies, Holly's hair was undoubtedly the stuff of stories.

And so, even though they were troubled by Miss Allison's strange, swift departure and the sight of her legs in stockings emerging from below the hem of a dress they had never seen, they trusted Holly and allowed her to guide them cheerfully downstairs.

* * *

The teens were subdued and obedient for the rest of the day, shuffling soberly from lessons to recess to meals, where they ate without even a low hum of chatter: even the silverware seemed to be whispering. After Holly had wrestled and soothed the three-and-unders, none of whom were particularly feeling Allison's absence, into bed, she climbed slowly the stairs to the fifth floor. It was too early to send the teens to bed, so Holly thought she might remove the most pinching of the pins that held her hair up – the teens would not mind if she came to them with a few loose strands, she knew. 

Languorous as her pace already was, Holly felt her feet turn to lead as she dragged herself onto the third-floor landing. The closed door of the four-to-twelves' dormitory seemed to stare down at her, daring her to turn the knob and see if the girls had come back, if they had really gone at all. Holly shuffled closer to the door; it loomed over her as if it were solid, impenetrable stone rather than the same old creaking wood that comprised the rest of the building. Bowing her head toward the flaking surface of the door, Holly listened closely for some noise from the room beyond. The absolute silence was eerie, as the four-to-twelves were hardly known for their quietude.

Where were they? The question came unbidden, as did the tears that were suddenly stinging her eyes and burning at the back of her nose. Holly squeezed her eyes shut and stepped resolutely away from the door. They will be back, she told herself. She opened her eyes, the wetness smashed onto her lashes, and stared hard at the door in front of her. "They will be back," she hissed at the door. It loomed unchanged before her, but Holly found herself able to turn away and climb the stairs without looking back doubtfully. "They'll be back," she murmured to herself as she came to the fourth-floor landing.

It was only eight o' clock; the teens still had an hour until their official curfew, and this was commonly their noisiest hour. Holly was accustomed to the comfortable chatter of the girls reading to one another from the well-worn magazines over the music from the record player. Their pleasant noise should have pressed against the door, squeezed through the cracks, trickled into the hallway so that Holly could pass through it like a warm patch of sunlight on her way upstairs. Instead, she stood on the edge of a silence as complete as that on the third-floor.

Fighting against the panic rising in her throat, Holly could not help the chills that shivered down her back as she strained her ears for some sound from the teens. She forced herself to walk to the door, this one looming even more ominous than the one below. Her hand shook, and she grasped the door handle tightly, trying to steady herself. Carefully, she eased the door open, though she was anxious to wrench it from the hinges. There was a rustling noise as all of the teens turned their heads to the doorway, squinting as the light from the hallway spilled across their faces.

The room was dark. Every girl was in bed, though it was clear from their faces that no one had been sleeping. Holly blinked at them in disbelief. "It's eight o' clock," she said.

"We're very tired," Janet, the eldest, replied. The other girls nodded and rolled onto their backs, staring wordlessly at the ceiling. Holly stared at them, her eyes darting from one girl to the next. "Goodnight, Miss Holly," Janet said. Holly managed to whisper a good night before shutting the door on the silent girls. She stood in the hallway, shivering, waiting for some sound. But none came.

Instructing herself not to linger, she continued the interrupted climb to her quarters, picking up speed as she neared her room. She couldn't help the relieved sigh that came at the sight of a door that seemed welcoming rather than threatening. Ducking swiftly inside the room, she closed the door and leaned against the familiar surface gratefully. She sighed again, the tension beginning to ease out of her shoulders as she removed the hairpins biting at her scalp and drank in the sight of her room. Everything was in its proper place; everything was just as it should be.

And then: a knock.

Holly froze in the process of extricating a particularly stubborn pin and stared at the door with a bemused expression, as if asking it to kindly repeat itself. Except for Allison, no one ever knocked on her door; none of the girls were permitted on the fifth floor (and the only ones who would have broken that rule were currently missing in action), and Anne was hardly what one could consider a sociable co-worker. Outside of mealtimes and staff meetings, Holly had never exchanged more than polite greetings with Anne.

Holly's heart gave a sudden leap and she gasped, almost squealed. Perhaps it was Allison! Yes, it must be Allison, back already to tell her that everything was fine and she had found the girls and could she please tell the teens to turn their music down as it was nearly curfew. Holly skipped eagerly to the door, the fingers of one hand still gripping tightly the stubborn hairpin. She swung the door open wide, already smiling triumphantly.

"Good evening. May – may I come in?"

Holly felt the smile slide off of her face as her jaw dropped and she stared at Anne, who was standing in the hallway and looking positively nervous.

It was the fidgety, dodgy-eyed nervousness that really caught Holly off-guard. Anne was a great bulk of a woman, tall and broad and instantly intimidating. Everything about her seemed solid and severe: the rigidness of her posture seemed an amalgamation of finishing school and boot camp, and the heavy, wet-weather shoes she wore at all times gave her steps a heavy, final sound. One did not question the woman responsible for those steps. And there was the self-assured, stomping woman, her posture crumbled as she hunched almost timidly in Holly's doorway, her huge, calloused hands worrying each other, her stone-grey eyes darting anxiously to Holly and away again. If Holly hadn't been so shocked, she would have laughed.

"This is a bad time," Anne sighed. "I'm sorry to –"

"No, no!" Holly forced out, stepping aside to allow Anne room to enter. "Please, come in."

Anne ducked her head and rushed into the room, the only noise being the rustle of her skirts. Her loud shoes, Holly saw, had been replaced by a pair of yellow house slippers that matched the dressing gown she wore. The standard-issue blue uniform had been enough to make formidable Anne look almost silly, but the pastel dressing gown was absurd. Holly was still too surprised to laugh.

"I've just got to get these pins out of my hair," Holly explained, gesturing with her free hand for Anne to sit on the bed while she resumed her place at her dresser. She tried not to watch Anne's reflection in the mirror and kept talking, mostly to keep the awkwardness in the air from settling. "They pinch something awful. If you'd like some tea, you can fill up that pot and turn on the hot plate. There's bags and mugs on the shelf up there." She directed Anne by gesturing with her elbows, as both arms were raised and both hands busied with digging out the many hairpins. Anne jumped up eagerly and scampered about the room, filling the pot from the bathroom she and Holly shared. Once she had set it on the hot plate, there was nothing to do but wait for the water to boil. She resumed her seat on the bed while Holly dropped a handful of pins on the dresser. Anne watched in silence as she periodically dropped more pins Each time she removed one hand to put down the pins, a piece of her thick hair fell down. Most of these fell across her face, allowing her to watch Anne's reflection in the mirror without being noticed. Anne watched Holly take down her hair, Holly watched Anne watching her in the mirror, and they remained in silence until the water began to hiss in the pot.

Anne broke the ice, shifting on the bed and coughing a little to clear her throat. Holly shook some of the hair out of her face and half-turned toward Anne, still picking at the pins but listening.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here," Anne said, and laughed nervously.

Holly nodded as best she could, trying not to further entangle any of the hairpins.

Anne coughed again. Her hands were in her lap, fiddling with each other, worrying over the lines in her palms.

"Anne," Holly called gently after a moment. Anne looked up, her eyes wide and a little brighter than usual.

"What's happened to them?"

Holly's eyebrows flew up in surprise. She knew at once who Anne meant by "them," but Allison had given them orders not to discuss the four-to-twelves' disappearance, even with each other. Had she and Anne had a closer relationship, Holly herself might have approached Anne with a similar question. But she had never dreamed that stalwart Anne would dare go against orders. The woman lived for orders. Holly had the distinct impression that if Anne's life were one day suddenly devoid of both the following and giving of orders, she would drop dead on the spot. No wonder she was so nervous.

Holly tried not to smile at Anne, especially because the question was not a happy one. Allison had plainly told them that the four-to-twelves had gone to the Neverland with Peter Pan, and Holly repeated this to Anne.

"But you can't actually believe that!"

"Well," Holly said thoughtfully. "For it not to be true, that would mean one of two things: that Allison is lying, or that Allison is insane. I've never in my experiences with Allison known her to lie, not even to the children, and she struck me as a very truthful person when I first met her, so I'm not inclined to believe her to be a liar. And I've never felt that she was at all mentally unsound, either, though I suppose it's possible that one can't really tell. But I don't think she's crazy, personally. So, if she's not lying and she's not crazy, then it must be true, right?"

Anne blinked.

"Well, you've known her longer than I have. You tell me, Anne: is Allison lying, crazy, or correct?"

She sighed, now, and shifted on the bed. "I don't think she's lying, no, but – don't you think it's possible she has _gone_ crazy?"

"With grief, you mean?"

"Well, yes. You saw how she was that night. I – I've never seen her like that."

Holly felt a twist of pity: Anne was actually frightened. The shining grey eyes looked beseechingly at Holly.

"She was...strange, I'll admit. But she snapped right back to normal, didn't she? Right back to controlled and in charge. She didn't seem to be crazy when she was making all those plans. It was as if she knew just what to do, as if she'd dealt with it all before."

"Oh!" Anne cried out as if she'd been struck. Holly flinched at the sudden outburst, wincing as a hairpin bit down into her scalp.

"What is it?" she asked, annoyed, as she rubbed the sore spot on her scalp with a fingertip.

"She has! She has dealt with it before!"

"What are you talking about?" Holly stared at Anne, who was wide-eyed and looked both excited and shocked. She got up suddenly, to make tea before the water boiled over, and was busy with that for longer than Holly felt she had patience.

"Anne!" she cried, anxiously.

"Yes, yes, coming!"

Anne placed a steaming mug on Holly's dresser and set her own on the side table, settling back onto the bed. She was even more fidgety than before, moving so restlessly that Holly felt herself becoming nervous and quickly found that her fingers had become agitated and firmly embedded several of the remaining hairpins in knots of hair.

"Come here," Anne beckoned at Holly's exasperated sigh. Bemused, Holly shuffled toward Anne, the mug of tea clenched in one hand while the other remained tangled in her hair. She settled herself on the floor in front of Anne with one yellow house slipper on either side of her. Anne's restless fingers worked swiftly and expertly at the tangles and pins and the action seemed to steady her.

"So, what's this about Allison, then?" Holly asked, after a careful sip of the hot tea.

"Yes, yes. You see, I've been here a long time. Longer than you, of course, but I've even been here longer than Allison. Before she came to run the orphanage, it was operated by her aunt, Belinda Sloane. Sloane the Crone, we called her. She was _ancient_. I was only a girl then, about your age, and Crone was just so old. We could never imagine her as ever being young, or ourselves as ever being that old. Of course, I'm probably the Crone of Neverland now." Anne laughed easily and Holly chuckled tentatively. It was true, and funny, but she didn't want to offend. Anne pressed on, working gently and steadily at a tricky pin in Holly's hair.

"The girls who worked here were always coming and going. They worked until they got married, usually, or until they found a job they wanted more than this one. The pay is hardly fantastic, as you well know. Crone kept the place open on her own funds – independently wealthy. But this is hardly the business one enters for large profits. So girls came and went, but I stayed, and stayed, and stayed, until only Crone and myself remained from the old times. Crone didn't have any children of her own, but she did have a niece, her sister's child, that she favored. Crone named this niece the sole heir of everything she had – the money, all of her property, and Neverland."

"Allison?"

"Right in one. Crone even put up the money for Allison to attend university. She loved that girl something fierce. And one day, while Allison was still in university, she showed up here late one night, banging on the door until I let her in. I thought she was hurt or in trouble, but she wouldn't talk to me; she charged right up to the Crone's quarters and when I came up after her, Crone sent me away. Told me not to disturb them. The girls and I – and the cook, and the maids, everyone – we all waited up in the kitchen for Allison to come back down, and most everyone was asleep by the time she did. The cook and I saw her leave and then the Crone rang for us and asked us to send everyone to bed. She didn't even mention it the next morning, or ever for two whole years. And two years later –"

"Allison came back to take over Neverland."

"That she did. Crone called me in for a private conference when Allison showed up. And she finally told me about that business those years ago. She told me that when Allison was a little girl, she had been spending the night with her favorite cousins and in the morning, they had all vanished. They came back, after a time, just showed up in their nursery with not a scratch on them. All except Allison's best friend, though. She was gone. But then, that night that Allison came to Neverland, she told the Crone that she had seen her best friend. She told the Crone that her best friend had come back and was still a child, like something out of a story. And that same night, she told the Crone that she'd never have children, that she wanted to have the orphanage. So the Crone told me all this, and swore me to secrecy, and asked me to stay here at Neverland for as long as I could stand it. And I plan to stay here until I'm carried out, and I've never told anyone this story except you just now. So there now, there's the last pin and my last word."

Anne dropped a prickly mass of pins into Holly's palm and took a long sip of her steeping tea.

Holly stroked her fingers along her scalp, shaking out her hair thoughtfully.

"Anne!" she cried suddenly, jumping up to her knees and whirling around to face the bed. Her foot struck the mug beside her and tea spilled across the floor, but she paid it no mind as she leaned toward Anne, wide-eyed with excitement. Anne looked alarmed.

"She said her cousin was still a child!"

Anne nodded slowly, hesitantly, and flinched when Holly cried out again.

"_Children don't grow up in the Neverland_! She's not crazy! She's telling the truth!"

"But it's just a story!"

Holly tutted impatiently. "Forget all that. This is fact! You've agreed that Allison isn't crazy, you only thought she'd gone crazy. But it's too consistent! She knew just what to do when she realized the girls had gone because she'd already gone through it with her cousin. And she didn't want to have any children because she was afraid that they'd go to the Neverland. _And her name is Darling_! It all makes such sense, don't you see?"

Anne was shaking her head and looking as if she did not see at all. "It's not real, Holly. How can the Neverland be real? Maybe she _is_ crazy! Maybe she's always been crazy!"

"Would the Crone have given the orphanage to Allison if she were crazy?"

Anne frowned thoughtfully.

"This makes sense, Anne. It just takes some effort, but it makes sense."

Anne looked dubious. Holly rose to sit beside her on the bed and nodded encouragingly. "It makes sense."

"We'll have to trust her, I guess."

"And the stories. Children always come back from the Neverland, Anne. They'll be back."

* * *

and now a word from our author: i think it's safe to say i've lost my readership, but this is really for myself, anyway. i've got a story in me & i've got to get it out, even if i'm the only one sticking with it. to anyone reading, thank you! i hope it's enjoyable. 


	5. Getting Lost

Summary: The fate of the Darling women proves inescapable, even to those who do not have daughters. The orphans of the Neverland Orphanage are swept away by Peter Pan, despite a Darling's best efforts to prevent just that. This story is based on the book by JM Barrie, not any of the movies. The rating has been cranked up because later chapters will be dealing with violence & other non-K things.

Disclaimer: While the characters of the Neverland Orphanage, the descendants of John & Michael, & the new generation of Neverland inhabitants are of my own creation, Peter, Wendy, John, Michael, Wendy's daughter & Wendy's granddaughter, Smee, Tiger Lily, & anyone you recognize from Peter Pan are all belonging to JM Barrie.

* * *

Chapter Five: Getting Lost 

"Let's never go back!"

Penny swooped around her companions and suddenly dove through the cold night, plunging downward out of the blue-black sky toward the dark rooftops below. The other girls watched her, laughing through just the smallest bit of alarm as she dove. Even Peter paused to follow her descent, and when she pulled sharply out of the dive to circle tightly around a church steeple and rocket back up, he cheered the loudest. She shot toward the other children hovering in the air, stopped abruptly, and bobbed in the night like a cork in water, grinning proudly. The only blush on her cheek was caused by the cold air whipping color into the faces of all the girls.

They had long ago stopped shivering, and indeed the air felt warmer now that they had left the city and flew over sleepy hamlets and dark countryside. Warm enough, at least, to allow them to unstick their tightly clasped hands and wipe away the crust of frozen tears that had streaked down their faces as the cold night air tore past their eyes. Peter Pan, they learned, did not slow down for anyone.

Nor did he seem to be affected by the self-made wind that made the girls' eyes water and noses run. Each time he looked back at his entourage – and they could remember each time for he had done it very rarely – his beautiful, youthful face was clean, his eyes clear and sparkling, his button nose dry. He seemed surprised at the sight of their wild, dirty faces, though Sylvia had begun to suspect he was more surprised at their very presence. He had taken a brief nap as they passed over a forest of bare trees, a feat which baffled and delighted the girls. A few had tried it out themselves, but once they had managed to lie down and get comfortable, they dropped from the sky like stones, plummeting toward the black tree limbs that reached up to the fliers like arms lonely for embraces. After more than a few terrified screams and shrieking laughs, Peter had rolled over and regarded them crankily. It had taken an uncomfortably long moment for recognition to dawn on his rosy face, during which Sylvia and Olivia were not the only girls wearing suspicious frowns.

Not long after that incident, Sylvia and Olivia had approached him from behind, intending to ask for definitive proof that there were Lost Girls in the Neverland. With Hattie's glare warming their backs, they swooped alongside of him and cleared their throats politely. His response had been to whip around in shock, one hand flying to his waist to grip the handle of a small but clearly sharp dagger tucked into his belt.

"Where did you come from?" he had snarled, and the twins could only stare dumbfounded, Olivia at the glint of silver amid the folds of fresh green and Sylvia at the flashing steeliness of his eyes. She watched the hard gleam soften as he recognized them, but the uneasiness did not entirely leave her. The twins fell back among the other girls, deciding to wait and see Lost Girls for themselves rather than ask.

It was difficult to be suspicious of Peter Pan for long, however. After all, he was Peter Pan, and he was more enchanting and delightful than any story could truly express. He indulged them, too, when he remembered them. He helped them with their flying until even Hattie, who had from the start adopted an ungainly method of flying that involved working her legs like those of a swimming frog's and flapping her arms as if they were featherless wings, was gliding almost effortlessly in what was very nearly a straight line. He engaged Sylvia in mock combat mid-air, his silvery blade raining blows upon her wooden sword until she had learned enough about blocking to save her blade from being hacked to bits. After some prompting, he even managed to remember Captain Hook – "Oh, yes, that old codfish!" – and promised Sylvia, on his honor, that he would show her where the pirates made berth. She, like all the others, found herself ensnared by the charm of youthfulness, which emanated from Peter like the warm golden light haloing his fairy.

Glimmer Bell led the way, flying ahead of the children and standing out bright against the dark sky. The trail of light and fairy dust that streaked out behind her made the fairy seem like a small shooting star that the children followed. Peter was close behind the fairy, but she did not circle around him protectively as she had in the dormitory. Like the Tinker Bell of the stories, Glim had been possessive of Peter and threatened the girls with angry chimes and tinkles of swears, but she had taken to ignoring the lot of them once they had flown out of London. She flew straight on without pausing or doubling back to check on her followers, as if it meant little to her whether they came or not. For the girls' part, they were content to follow Peter and the fairy, so long as they reached the Neverland.

And they were more than content. The liberty of flying had stirred them into a giddy frenzy; they played tag and raced and made daredevil dives, equipped with a new sense of invincibility. Sylvia felt, without a hint of doubt, that this high up in the air, flying through the black night with the stars a sparkling ceiling above and the lights on the land below a carpet of twinkles and glimmers, they had slipped into a secret pocket of magic in the ordinary world. Like a magical roadway directly to the Neverland, Olivia thought, where no forces of the ordinary world like pain or fear or death could ever touch them. So they zipped and darted, plummeted and rocketed, turned tight loops until they were dizzy and left giggling, staggering in the air.

Penny, surprisingly, seemed the most liberated and the most daring – she had shrugged off her customary shyness at Peter's appearance in the dormitory and had apparently left it behind with her unmade bed, where it proved no hindrance to her bold stunts and the full, cheery belly-laughs that rang through the night, the whole night, as they flew.

The girls flew without the need for rest, even as the night came to its darkest, coldest hour, during which anyone awake will find himself very lonely if not for the right company. Luckily, the four-to-twelves were excellent company for one another and made this bleak hour as exciting as the first hour of their journey. Whooping and looping, they followed Peter and Glimmer Bell straight on until sunrise began bleeding its rosy light through the pale horizon. They watched as the color was caught and seeped through the sky toward them, like glowing embers beginning to give rise to flame. Straight on they flew.

"Look," cried a voice. The girls turned first to find the speaker, and were astonished to see Hattie pointing with one outstretched arm at the blaze beginning to lick the horizon. Her face seemed different – open, the twins thought – though it may have just been the light. Still, the girls trusted the awe in her eyes and each followed her pointing finger, which guided their sights to the heart of the rising sun. Their eyes ached against the glare and they squinted but refused to look away or shut their eyes, staring until tears were again blurring their vision and staring still. They stared until the very tears of their watering eyes hurt and then, when they were nearly convinced that Miss Anne's advice about not looking into the sun was sound, they saw what Hattie had been the first to recognize. Through the glare of red sunrise, only vague shadows were discernible, but they knew it at once.

"The Neverland," Melissa shrieked, sending the girls into fits of delight. Screaming and cheering and cartwheeling, they surged forward to fly alongside Peter, not noticing his shock at their sudden appearance. The sun burned brighter before them, but their eyes could bear it now and Glimmer Bell stood out against its light. They followed her lead and flew straight on to the sunrise.

It didn't take them long to get settled.

The Lost Boys had apparently been expecting them and made a valiant but laughable attempt at tidying up. The four-to-twelves alighted for the first time in the Neverland atop a mountain of garbage and toys poorly, obscured by a threadbare and holey rug. Smudged with dirt and trying their best to look like respectable gentlemen, the boys stood in a single file line to crane back their necks and peer up at the four-to-twelves grouped at the peak of the junk heap. There were six Lost Boys waiting to greet them: Curio (the youngest at five years), Elbow (seven, very good with knots, and armed with a great length of rope, in case of emergencies), Hops and Scotch (the six-year-old twins), Froth (a skinny eight-year-old whose goofy smile always lingered faintly on his face), and Nym (ten and tough, though his attempts at surliness could hardly hide the hopeful gleam in his eyes as he gazed up at the four-to-twelves). There passed a few moments between both parties, before Sylvia unearthed a unicycle from the pile beneath her feet and sent Hattie tumbling down the mountain. Laughing good-naturedly with all the others, Sylvia flitted down to Hattie's aid and joined the two youngest Lost Boys in helping her up.

And after that, things were easy.

Despite the clutter, which quickly found its way back out from under the rug, there was no trouble finding room for the four-to-twelves in the spacious home of the Lost Boys. They had relocated from the underground hideaway, leaving the hollow halls to whatever wandering creatures needed the shelter. The Wendy-house was an ivy-covered lump just visible from the Lost Boys' new digs, an airy loft in the treetops of the jungle. Actually, it was both in the treetops and of the tree tops. The upper branches of four very tall, very closer trees had been woven tightly together to form a ropey but solid floor – clearly Elbow's work – that allowed everyone to walk around the loft when they tired of flying (it can be unexpectedly exhausting) without disturbing the trees enough to be noticed from the jungle floor. The dwelling had also been strategically constructed so that the highest branches of the trees provided a loose roof, making an aerial sighting of the loft nearly impossible. The four-to-twelves often lost the place in their early days, before memorizing the Lost Boys' specific instructions: left at the forty-fifth sunbeam, over the wind and around the sea breeze, and straight down at the wake of a bird's flight.

"But that doesn't make sense," mused Shannon, a bewildered eleven-year-old who had spent most of her time at the orphanage as one of Hattie's shy shadows. Since coming to the Neverland, she had distinguished herself from the other hangers-on by actually speaking, for one thing. Curio, who had just finished a fifth patient explanation of the directions, sighed in exasperation and slumped in the air. Shannon cast an apologetic look in his direction, but continued in a tentative tone. "How are we to know which beam is the forty-fifth? And 'the wake of a bird's flight' – what bird? There are hundreds!"

"Thousands," Curio mumbled from beneath his hands, which were pressed against his face in frustration.

"Thousands!" Shannon echoed, before staggering back to sit in the air, dazed.

Hattie scoffed with disdain, but said nothing. She did not understand the directions any better than Shannon or the others, but she wasn't going to admit it, of course.

"Well, let's just try, yeah?" Sylvia suggested, rising into the air just slightly to encourage everyone along.

"Isn't this just how things work in the Neverland?" Olivia added without joining her twin in floating upward (she didn't want to rush anyone). "You know, not everything makes the kind of sense we're used to, at first –"

"But it all makes its own kind of sense in the end!" Sylvia chimed in. "Anyway, do you really want to tell tem back in London that you flew all the way to the Neverland and you didn't even leave the house once you got there, all on account of some dodgy directions?"

With that, nearly everyone was sold, and those still doubting were caught up in the enthusiasm of the others as they took off through the canopy and into the open air.

The herd mentality the four-to-twelves showed during their early days in the Neverland did not last. As they became more comfortable with their new surroundings, they found themselves breaking into smaller groups formed around common interest, rather than refusing to take any action unless every one of them was on board. And with everything the Neverland had to offer, it was no wonder the four-to-twelves spread so far out.

Hattie and her most faithful of followers, Adelaide and Sadie, staked claim on the loft, Hattie directing while the other two cooked and cleaned, dusted and darned, swept and polished. They spent nearly all day in the loft, except when Hattie sent one of the girls out to the pretend market on a pretend errand, and each morning after breakfast, the three of them chased the Lost Boys and the other four-to-twelves outside to play so they could get to work. Most everyone was content to leave the loft in their eager hands: the four-to-twelves were, by and large, modern girls with aspirations other than being housewives, and Peter had the Lost Boys thoroughly convinced that they had no business doing any of that "mother work."

But Penny was also drawn to spending time in the loft, though not for work. The excitement and daring that had exploded from her quiet shell the moment the four-to-twelves left for the Neverland, though calmer now, had transformed the shy girl they had known back at the orphanage into a cheery, chattery thing that got on well with everyone: Lost Boys, fairies, jungle beasts, Indians, even the mermaids, if she caught them on the right day. Her newfound sociability allowed her to act on the eagerness to please that she had always possessed, and she had made it her mission to make the loft, once a mess of toys and rubbish, and then, under Hattie's control, severely scrubbed and nearly unlivable, into a cozy, homey hideaway for everyone to share. She returned to the loft halfway through each day, laden with goods that would counter the harshness of Hattie's cleaning with softer, welcoming touches. Freshly picked flowers exploded from any unadorned corner, splashing the room with color. Every interesting rock found or mud pot sculpted by one of the children was placed in a spot of privilege and esteem to decorate the walls of the entire loft. Penny hung up the drawings that the children made, implementing a rotation cycle once she ran out of wall space; she found out what everyone's favorite food was for his or her birthday dinner, and what their second favorite was for unbirthday dinner; she enlisted the fairies in helping her sew together a gigantic, multicolored quilt that represented the best loved colors of all the children. While Hattie had devoted herself to keeping house, Penny determined to make a home, and their combined efforts made them a team of the most darling mothers ever to occupy the Neverland.

The other four-to-twelves were too fascinated by the island around them to spend their days in the loft. Melissa and the younger girls – four-year-old Calla and Ruth, who was pushing five-and-a-half – flocked to the Indian camp. Some of the older four-to-twelves, including Shannon, joined them to shadow Tiger Lily and serve as her ladies-in-waiting to get their hands on cast-off clothes and outgrown moccasins. They returned to the loft each evening to sit Tiger Lily fashion and rehearse her stoic, regal gaze on their companions, who pulled faces at the practicing princesses like tourists at Buckingham Palace guards.

Though they admired the attempted aloofness of the Tiger Buds (as the girls were affectionately dubbed), Melissa, Calla, and Ruth dreamed of being braves, stalking through the plains that stretched out beyond the Indian camp and tracking each other through the jungle. While the Tiger Buds lined their eyes with dark smudges from charred wood to lend them a touch of the princess' mystery, the little braves, joined by Hops and Scotch, smeared mud across strategic areas of each other's faces for camouflage. Regardless of how the children chose to dirty their faces, they were sure to wash up when they returned to the loft for supper, of course.

Olivia and Sylvia, though they found fun everywhere from the mermaid lagoon to the city of apes, were primarily concerned with Lost Girls. Peter proved as forgetful as ever when questioned, so the twins turned to the other Lost Boys for information. Muddled as their memories were, Nym readily responded to the twins' queries.

"Them," Nym snorted, biting viciously into an apple. The children that were not occupied with chores or playing at the Indian camp were lounging in highest branches of the fruit trees in the heart of the jungle. The trees bear a wide variety of fruit, blueberries and honeydews hanging side by side on the same branch. Nym and the twins were perched in the same tree, along with Froth, who sucked on a mango seed and looked on silently.

"Yeah, they were here once," Nym continued, his voice tight and bitter. "But they left. With _her_." Sylvia was about to speak but hesitated, stayed by the silencing gesture from Olivia. Nym turned the bitten apple over and over in his hands broodingly and remained silent. Finally, Olivia spoke.

"With who?"

But Nym only hurled the apple away from him and took off from the tree, shaking the branches so hard that Froth tumbled from his seat and caught himself just before his head split on a large bough. Below them, a heavy hanging watermelon could be heard crashing through the branches and landing with a wet thump on the jungle floor. The twins ignored both the melon and Froth's floundering, staring after Nym until he was gone from their sights.

"With who?" one of the twins repeated, making Froth jump and nearly lose his balance again. Instead, he almost swallowed the mango seed and spent a few minutes choking before Sylvia gave him a well-aimed whack between the shoulder-blades. Clearing his throat, he watched the seed rocket through the trees until it pegged an unsuspecting Scotch in the back of the head.

"With who?" said one of the twins again, and Froth turned to see who had spoken. This had become a game all of the Lost Boys liked to play when the twins were talking, especially Hops and Scotch, who were proper twins that looked alike but behaved like complete opposites and found it baffling that Sylvia and Olivia could blend so easily together when they looked so different.

Their appearances were even more distinct in the Neverland. While the other four-to-twelves had donned leaf clothing (or buckskin shifts, in the case of the Tiger Buds and the braves), Sylvia had opted to stick with her standard-issue blue pajamas, now tattered and worn and torn from all the adventuring. With the sword still hooked through the ripped waistband and a portion of a torn pant leg serving as a kerchief to keep her wild hair out of her face, she looked positively piratical.

Olivia had traded in her pajamas for a pinafore of woven long grass, which she had trickily manipulated to turn the skirt of the dress into shorts. Elbow had given her a great deal of help with that, and the result was a sturdy apron-like coverall that Olivia wore only and always. It withstood nearly all their adventures, and was easily mended with the juice of fresh leaves and a cobweb or two, and with its braided texture and the shininess of the long grass, the four-to-twelves and the Lost Boys thought her attire nearly as impressive as Peter's.

She and Peter, in fact, were often compared by the others. When the whole gang of them had a race, Olivia finished second every time, just on Peter's heels. Though he would claim not to be trying, Olivia's performance was still lauded and admired. When they were taking dives from the high cliffs into the mermaid lagoon, Olivia's many somersaults and mid-air spirals always received just a bit more cheering and applause than Peter's effortlessly amazing feats. And each day they spent in the Neverland, Olivia became stronger and faster and wilder, until Sylvia was not the only one to notice a glimmer of panic in Peter's eyes as Olivia gained on him in a race, or jealousy twisting his sweet face while she was zipping around during a game of tag. It was becoming clear that Olivia and the rest of the four-to-twelves were not just mothers; they were a whole new class of Lost Children. Sylvia and Olivia, side by side, looked like perfect enemies – pirate and Lost Boy – and still they were capable of being completely undifferentiated, as like as twins.

Which brings us back to Froth, smiling slightly and gazing at the mismatched pair, trying to guess who had said –

"With _who!_"

This time it was both of them together, shouting to snap Froth from his dreamy trance.

"Oh, well, I suppose he meant Rocky."

The twins waited while Froth paused, until they realized that he did not plan on continuing.

"Who's Rocky?" Sylvia sighed.

He shook his head slightly and his smile took on a different air. The goofiness seemed replaced with something that was almost wry. The twins each raised an eyebrow.

"Rocky was in charge of the Lost Girls." The twins perked up excitedly. "Peter fetched her...so long ago. She came with others...Davs and Cubby...he wanted to be a wolf...and another, our mother. We called her Mother, but Peter and Davs and Cubby and Rocky called her Allison." The twins exchanged a look, half-skeptical and half-hopeful, but quickly turned their heads back to Froth when he continued on his own. "Rocky wanted to find the Lost Girls, but Davs and Peter said there weren't any. We said so, too, because Peter would know. But our mother said that there might be, and Peter had told us we had to love our mother and listen to her, so we went with Rocky to find them. We flew all over – through the jungle and the plains and the beaches. We asked everyone – the apes in their city, the Indians in their camp, the mermaids, even, but they just spit water at us. Cubby got the wolves to help him, and Davs spied on the pirates in their town to see if they had any." Sylvia leaned forward at the mention of the pirate town, but Froth moved along. "We couldn't find anyone anywhere. We wanted to give up, but Mother told us we must never give up. Then Rocky started talking to the fairies. The fairies don't like us much; they only like Peter. But they liked Rocky okay, too, and they told her they knew about Lost Girls. So Rocky and a fairy went back out to look, and we all pretended to be hurt so Mother could bandage us and give us medicine, and tuck us in to tell us stories in bed all evening. Mother was telling us the story of the Wendy-house, and why it's called the Wendy-house, and we heard voices. Girl's voices. They were laughing and screaming and Rocky was saying 'Steady now, that's it,' and we all forgot to be hurt and flew out to see what was happening. And there was Rocky with the Lost Girls all in a line behind her, holding hands and flying very poorly. They were terrible. And then Peter came out to see and he and Rocky just looked at each other and we looked at the girls and Mother looked at Peter and Rocky. And then Peter shrugged and flew back inside, and Mother said 'We'll need a bigger table,' and Davs said 'We'll need a bigger house.' So, Elbow built the treehouse and the girls moved in, and Mother and Davs and Cubby had to leave, but Rocky came back with Peter. Then one day she disappeared. And another day, we woke up and the Lost Girls were all gone. We left a light burning for them, so they could find us in case they had got more lost. But Peter made us take it down and told us to forget about them."

"But you haven't," Olivia breathed. Both twins were leaning as far forward as they could, hanging on Froth's every word.

"No, I suppose not," Froth sighed. And then a very strange thing happened. Right before the twins' eyes, Froth aged. It was only a very little bit, but there was no mistaking it. As he turned his brooding face, with its sad smile, toward them, they could see he was older.

Sylvia went white as sheet and Olivia's throat ran dry as they clutched each other's hands and stared.

"Where did they go?" Sylvia whispered.

Froth shrugged and shifted to lean back against the tree trunk. He stared at the sky through the tree branches, the sad smile fixed on his face. "They're just gone," he said. "Lost."

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**& now a word from our author**: hi! i tweaked some of the stuff on top, but it's not too important. we're going to spend some time in the neverland & leave london alone for awhile. in terms of crediting, curio is a name shakespeare used. the lost boys were otherwise named by me, with lots of mysterious reasoning behind them. ooo, mysterious. for example, nym has no connection to nimh. then why would i do it? so mysterious. okay, enough of that. davsdavid, cubbyjude, rockyemily, in case that was troubling anyone. & unbirthdays were made popular by lewis carroll, of alice fame. okay, then, move it along! 


	6. Positively Piratical

Summary: The fate of the Darling women proves inescapable, even to those who do not have daughters. The orphans of the Neverland Orphanage are swept away by Peter Pan, despite a Darling's best efforts to prevent just that. This story is based on the book by JM Barrie, not any of the movies. The rating has been cranked up because later chapters will be dealing with violence & other non-K things.

Disclaimer: While the characters of the Neverland Orphanage, the descendants of John & Michael, & the new generation of Neverland inhabitants are of my own creation, Peter, Wendy, John, Michael, Wendy's daughter & Wendy's granddaughter, Smee, Tiger Lily, & anyone you recognize from Peter Pan are all belonging to JM Barrie.

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Chapter Six: Positively Piratical 

"Wow," Olivia sighed, sinking down onto the floor of the Wendy-house. Sylvia was perched on the windowsill across from her, her shoulders hunched up as if warding off cold. There was hardly a chill in the summery afternoon.

The twins had left Froth in the fruit trees after Hops and Elbow showed up to invite them all on a game of Indian fighting. Normally, they would have gone along – they loved to be caught and tied up, only to escape and bust out their fellows – but they were reeling from Froth's tale and retreated at once to their secret place. Elbow had told them on their first day in the Neverland that no one ever went near the Wendy-house anymore, so the twins found it an ideal secret place. Miss Allison was a strong advocate of secret places, and the twins shared her sentiment. "Everyone needs a place that's just for them," she had said, always showing a touch of leniency when one of the girls was discovered alone in a classroom after hours. The twins had no qualms about sharing a place that was just for the two of them.

Well, the two of them and the badgers.

The badgers paid them little mind; they had quickly grown used to the twins' presence in the Wendy-house and only raised their heads briefly to acknowledge their entrance before returning to their afternoon nap under the Wendy-table. They were too sleepy and badger-like to notice that the twins looked particularly troubled.

"Did you see that?" Sylvia asked for the fourth time, her voice just a bit steadier this time. Olivia nodded wordlessly, again. They had been repeating these actions since they arrived in the Wendy-house, though Olivia had finally stopped pacing and Sylvia had given up on restlessly rolling her sword hilt between her palms. They sank into a thoughtful stupor that Olivia interrupted.

"He got older."

"I know," Sylvia murmured, looking absently at the badgers sleeping under the table.

"He just got older."

"I know."

"How?"

"I don't know."

They sighed together, shifting in their seats.

"It was so strange," Sylvia said.

"I know."

"Just, right in front of us, getting older."

"I know."

"_How?_"

"I don't know."

For the first time since they had arrived at the Wendy-house, the twins met each other's eyes.

"Well, at least there's a bright side," Sylvia said, shrugging.

"You mean finding out about the Lost Girls?"

"No. Hattie was wrong. Again."

Olivia laughed at Sylvia's wry grin and rose to her feet. "The sun'll set soon," she said, and they flew out through the window so the door would not wake the badgers.

The jungle was red with the sun's drowsy light as the twins flew back to the loft, discussing the Lost Girls and the possibility of them still being on the island.

"Maybe they've gone back to the jungle," Olivia mused.

"You ought to ask the fairies, like Rocky did. They get on with you." Sylvia added this last remark with a touch of distaste. She did not have a good relationship with the fairies.

Drawing near to the loft, they could hear the shouts and chatter of the returning children, as well as the commands of their mothers. Froth's voice wafted dreamily towards Sylvia.

"Oi, has anyone seen Nym about? He's all but disappeared!"

Sylvia paused in mid-air for a moment, and Olivia looked back with a shrug. "Maybe he's still upset from earlier. He'll come 'round once he's cooled off," she assured Sylvia.

"All the same, I ought to go look for him." Olivia gave her a funny look, to which she rolled her eyes. "Come on, Ollie, you know how titchy the mothers get if we're late. If I dash off and find him, we'll both be back in time."

"Alright, but I'm not covering for you if you're late again," Olivia warned.

Grinning, Sylvia shot away toward the fruit trees, calling back to her twin, "Of course you are!"

The light was still red when Sylvia reached the fruit trees, but deepening and darkening every minute. She quickly located the tree they had been in that afternoon, now deserted, and took off in the direction Nym had headed. But that was the easiest her search would get.

He was nowhere to be found in the elephant's oasis, though she looked hard among the lush vegetation and along the banks of the clear, cool lake. Neither did she see him in the valley of bees and bears, where he was fond of pilfering honey from both creatures. Sylvia checked the Echo Canyon, regrettably having no time to engage one of the lonely voices in conversation, and the Garden of Eatin', where she was sorely tempted by the wily witch herself to sample the edible forest, but she could not find Nym.

The centaurs, coming out into their meadow as the light turned purple to prepare for their nightly stargazing, had not seen him. They offered to read his fortune once the sun had set, but Sylvia did not have that time. He was not at the railway station for the train that ran through the Neverland, but the conductor claimed to have seen him flying overhead toward the city of apes earlier that afternoon. As Sylvia rocketed off, the conductor called out after her, "You ought to be gettin' home, miss! It's almost dark!"

It was still almost dark when the blur that was Sylvia in flight shot into the city of apes, startling the gorilla guard on duty from his post.

"I'mherelookingforNymtheLostBoysorrytobotheryouIwon'tbelong!" Sylvia shouted as she passed him.

"He's with the chimp children," the gorilla roared after her (in gorilla, of course, but it was all the same in the Neverland, really), shaking his head as he settled back down.

The sun seemed to be lingering on the verge of going to sleep, as if it were wondering how tired it really was and if it could indeed stay awake a bit longer. Sylvia had no complaints for its languorous pace as she made a beeline for the nursery, a cluster of thick trees where the young apes were housed.

The city of apes was itself a cluster of trees, comprised of smaller clusters of trees that formed a circle. The trees were all within swinging range, but rope roads had been strung in between the clusters to help those too young or too old to swing. The apes, in fact, only allowed the Lost Boys into the city because Elbow had taught them to tie knots and work with rope, which allowed them to expand the city to include trees farther away from the close-grown section of the city. Most of these were where the ape families made their homes, while the closer clusters served as public buildings – town hall, hospital, banana store. The nursery was a large cluster, containing small pockets in which the apes were grouped by age, rather like the orphanage. Recently, a large group of ape sisters had all given birth to their first children, and the youngest section of the nursery was overflowing with chimp babies. All of the Lost Boys and four-to-twelves had been by to see the babies, who loved the attention.

And Nym was indeed there, with chattering baby chimps crawling all over him. He was tossing them and tickling them and even giggling with them as they swung from his arms and gnawed toothlessly at his ears. Sylvia smiled at the sight but cleared her throat, trying to catch his attention. They needed to leave quickly if they were to make it back.

He started when he saw her, quickly wiping the grin off his face and detaching one of the babies from his ear. He dropped as many as he could into their cribs, trying to look casual and surly at the same time and failing miserably at both. He looked, instead, embarrassed and sad, but also a little relieved when Sylvia came forward to help him. As they removed the chimps clinging to his back and hiding in his pockets, Sylvia urged him on.

"Quickly, yeah? If we hurry, we can make it back before dark and we won't get in trouble."

Nym only grunted and deposited the last chimp baby in its crib.

"Goodnight," Sylvia cooed at them, soaring out through a space in the trees. Nym only grunted again and followed after her.

They flew quickly out of the city, again disturbing the gorilla guard, but once they had passed the centaur's meadow, Nym slowed down. Sylvia turned around to find him sulking as he trailed along behind her.

"What's with the sourpuss?" she called out to him, hovering as she waited for his snail's pace to catch him up to her. Nym looked taken aback by her directness and discarded his carefully planned reply of "Nothing."

"I oughtn't be worried about getting in trouble with the mothers," he growled. "Because you lot are only going to leave, anyway." He had drawn abreast of her by now, so she turned and they flew on. She did not try to speed him along by going any faster, but looked thoughtfully ahead as they drifted toward the loft. They could hear Echo Canyon in the distance, one voice calling out "Good night!" and another voice answering "Good night!" and so on.

"Well," she said, as the echoes faded behind them. "I suppose one day we will have to leave." Nym was again surprised by how straightforward she was. "But not anytime soon," she reassured him, turning to face him with a smile that he did not return. He only watched her, neither sad nor angry nor attempting to be tough, just blank. "And," she continued, still smiling, still looking at him. "We will say goodbye before we go."

A small smile hooked the corner of Nym's mouth. "You will?"

"Oh, yes. We'll say goodbye and have a party and even hug and kiss you all, though you'll hate it."

The smile tugged at his lips.

"We'll do it anyway."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

It pulled hard, and his mouth gave, allowing the smile to stretch out across his face. Sylvia smiled wider in return, then punched his side playfully.

"Tag! You're It!" She rocketed off towards the loft and he followed, close on her heels, and they raced the darkness home.

Of course, they didn't get in trouble, but they did get very stern looks from the mothers and from everyone else, as they were all seated at the table and waiting for their dinner, which was waiting for the two stragglers. But by the time they were all settled in their giant (but still crowded) bed, ready for their bedtime story, all was forgiven and forgotten.

The tree-dwelling life was fun and all, but as time went on, Sylvia found it harder and harder to resist the other side of the island. Each night, after the mothers had told them their story and tucked the whole lot of them under their leafy quilt, Sylvia lay awake. Beside her, Olivia dozed fitfully, her slow, deep breaths mingling with the gentle snores that filled the cozy loft. The soft rhythm of sleepy breathing soothed Sylvia into a state of quiet alertness, and she lay gazing out across the island to where the lights of the pirate town pierced night's shroud, the small corner of the Neverland glowing like an ember in a drowsy fire.

That spark entranced Sylvia, particularly on the nights that it glittered like the fairies frolicking in the evening air above the loft, twinkling and tinkling and scattering the Lost with dust so that, unwittingly and giggly, they rose just a bit into the air. Or, Sylvia would think, it glinted like light on a chest of dubloons, like the flash and sparkle of two swords clashing together, like the setting sun gilding the waves on a clear evening in the middle of the sea.

The ocean was the other main attraction for Sylvia. She flew out as far as she could, each day venturing just a bit further, racing seagulls and dolphins when the rest of her companions had long turned back to shore. The water and its inhabitants were accustomed to her – even the mermaids treated her almost nicely when she came alone to linger in the lagoon or skip like a stone across its surface. It was as if they recognized something in her as of their own, and she herself felt the insistent pull from within every time she watched the waves roll back into the ocean. At night, the sleepy sounds of the children whispered like those waves around her as she lay awake longing for a pirate's life.

Sylvia's hesitancy to approach the other side of the Neverland surprised her, mostly because it was so largely motivated by Peter. On the rare occasions that Peter's obliviousness and self-concern did not cloud his vision, his eyes followed Sylvia's every movement. Paranoid that he could somehow sense her pirate dreams, she walked on eggshells and never strayed from the Lost Boys' side of the island if there were a chance that Peter was watching. And there was always a chance – Peter's unpredictability was legendary. One moment, he couldn't tell Sylvia from Scotch, and the next he was breathing down her neck, or she was turning to meet his unexpected and critical gaze, or he was startling her off her seat on the lagoon's surface with an invitation of swordplay.

The others found Peter's spontaneity delightful, an endearing aspect of his charm. Penny adored it like a proper doting mother, Melissa did her best to imitate it, and Olivia was completely impervious to it, in keeping with her tendency to show Peter up (however inadvertently). But Sylvia was wary of it. As with all things Peter, it had a duality: adorable and frightening, alluring and dangerous. Always apprehensive, Sylvia was torn between wanting to be far out of Peter's presence, where she could be temporarily safe until the fear that he would blindside her arose, and wanting to keep him close and in her sights, even if she had to endure his intent observations.

Usually she chose the former, tearing out across the ocean's surface, scanning the horizon for the sharp silhouettes of passing ships and resisting the desire to chase after them. One afternoon, she pulled up short and stared out at the grandest, most majestic vessel that had ever crossed her path. She hovered over the water, her toes dipping in every now and then, and gazed longingly at the sunlight gleaming the clean lines of the ship, the gilded sail, the wings of water flanking the bow as it cut a path through the ocean. Nearly swooning with desire, Sylvia barely understood the rush of air behind her before she was tumbling along the surface of the water, end over end, and somehow in the confusion drawing her nicked but still sturdy wooden blade. She spun away from her attacker and turned to face whatever had surprised her, sword ready to hack to bits Peter's grinning face.

He laughed loudly when he saw her drawn blade, quickly sweeping out his own and engaging her with a friendly parry that could have easily wounded her if she had not dodged. Skipping along the surface of the water, they traded blows, Peter laughing and Sylvia frowning with something between anger and confusion. He went for a downward thrust, coming in toward her, and she blocked high. They drew together, Peter's grinning face beaming into Sylvia's glower, before she ducked out of the struggle and slipped away. Peter blinked in amazement after she vanished, not visible before or on either side of him, and whirled around to narrowly miss impaling himself by the nose on the point of Sylvia's sword. His eyes followed the roughly hewn edge of the blade to Sylvia's satisfied smirk waiting at the hilt.

The shock on Peter's face was quickly replaced with his own smile as he moved backward, conceding defeat. Sylvia lowered her sword and returned it to its sling at her side, but no sooner had her hand left the hilt did Peter seize her round the wrist and zoom off. Caught off guard, she trailed behind him like a spray of seafoam kicked up under his flying heels.

"Where are we going?" she bellowed, hoping the rushing air battering against their ears would keep Peter from hearing the quaver in her voice.

"You'll see," he called back, holding fast to her wrist. His grip was far from painful, but tight enough that Sylvia could have had trouble slipping out of it if she wanted. She was soon distracted from her worries about Peter's grip, however.

Peter had flown them right up beside the beautiful ship that she had seen earlier. It appeared so suddenly at their sides that Sylvia was actually surprised by its presence. But there it was, gleaming and looming and glorious. She stared at it with longing and wonder, forgetting to breathe as she took in its marvelous stature and form, and the Jolly Roger overhead, snapping boastingly in the wind. Peter watched her excitedly, his face glowing with the hopefulness and pride of a child wishing his gift to be a success. He took Sylvia's stupid grin to be just that.

"Shall we board her?" he asked, and Sylvia felt like her heart and her head would simultaneously explode. She could only nod weakly and allow Peter to pull her up toward the railing of the ship.

As they drew close to the railing, Sylvia began to regain some of her senses, as well as her ability to think. "Wait, Peter," she whispered, bringing her other hand to pull on his arm. He turned to her almost irritably. "Instead of boarding, let's look in on them in secret."

Peter made a face. "You'd rather sneak and snoop than jump right up on the deck and slay the whole lot of them? Faugh!"

"No, no, but if we watch them, we can learn where they're going! They'll lead us to a whole mess of pirates! All those pirates in one place..." Sylvia cajoled, hoping she could win him over. He was looking thoughtful now, enticed by the mental image of himself, glorified above a heap of defeated pirates.

"Oh, the cleverness of me!" he cried, and Sylvia raised an eyebrow. i _So, he really does say that /i _, she noted. "We will look in on them instead of boarding her, so we can learn where they go," he said, triumphantly, and Sylvia rolled her eyes. She was willing to let him give himself credit for that if it meant she could see the pirate ship.

The clear day and fair weather apparently had the pirates off guard, and Sylvia could feel Peter twitch anxiously beside her as they peered up onto the deck from a well-concealed corner. The crewmembers lounged about the deck, leaning on the opposite railing and watching as two men played instruments. One tooted a simple but pleasant melody on a wooden flute while the other thumped rhythmically on a large wooden barrel. On every fourth drumbeat, the other men would all stamp a foot on the deck. Just after one of the foot stomps, one of the men began to sing.

_ I'm a pirate! That I be! _

_I sail me ship upon the sea!  
I stay up late - till half past three!  
And that's a peg below me knee! _

The rest of the men joined in, stomping at the last word and then drowning out the man's papery, warm voice.

_A pirate I was meant to be!_

_Trim the sails and roam the sea! _

They stomped again and let the man resume his solo.

_ Yo ho, my friends I have a tale  
of treasure, plunder, sea and sail!  
My story's bigger than a whale!  
It gets so deep, ye'll have to bail! _

When the men all stamped, Sylvia nearly clapped with them. The song delighted her, but Peter was snarling at her side, ready to leap over the railing and attack them all single-handed. His fist was already closed around the handle of his small blade, when a different banging noise interrupted the crew's song.

The noise had not been a stomp, but the opening of a door on the other side of the deck. The singing men fell silent and straightened up, and Sylvia and Peter soon saw the reason as the captain strode into view.

Sylvia knew he was the captain at once, not only for the richness of his clothing – his long red coat with its elaborate embroidery, his ruffled shirt looking impossibly clean and white, his tatterless black breeches and the polished sea boots into which they were tucked – or for the respect the crew gave him, but for the air that surrounded him as he walked, smoothly on the rocking ship, that said: This is mine. He seemed to own the very waves that touched his ship, and so knew which way they would tip the vessel. The wind that filled the sails, the light that gleamed on the deck, it all belonged to him. If it weren't for Peter at her side, Sylvia felt she would have rushed up to stand attentively in line with the rest of his crew and belong to him and his ship as well.

"Men," the captain addressed the crew, speaking in a smooth, deep, full voice. But before she could hear anymore, Sylvia became aware of Peter rising slowly in the air. He was nearly at the top of the railing now, teeth and blade bared, moving stealthily upward. Sylvia grabbed his ankle and, catching him off guard, managed to pull him down and away before he could cross over the railing. She rocketed away even more quickly than Peter had flown to get them to the ship and didn't release him until they reached the shore.

"Why did you stop me?" Peter demanded in what was nearly a whine, flushed and pouting.

"You agreed to wait!"

"But I could have fought them all right there!"

"Well, of course you could have! But –"

Just then, Froth came dancing through the air toward them and tapped Peter on the shoulder. "Tag! You're It now, Peter!" He took off laughing, along with Hops, Scotch, and a few of the four-to-twelves. Woes forgotten, Peter zipped off in pursuit, leaving Sylvia to stare after him and sigh in relief.

"Here you are, Sly!" Olivia cried, landing in the sand beside her twin. "Out on the water again?"

"Oh, Ollie, Peter and I saw the most fantastic ship! She was so beautiful and we snuck up and saw the crew, and oh, the captain! The captain was just –"

"Wonderful, I'm sure. Listen, about the Lost Girls! I asked the fairies, like you said, and they told me they had looked and looked, but they never found them again. And Cinder, she came with me and we looked all over for them – we even flew into Echo Canyon –"

"Without me!"

"Well, you were off chasing ships and admiring captains. Anyway, we flew down all the way, and it's just voices, after all –"

"Pity."

"Anyway, we didn't find them anywhere. So, I guess Hattie was right all along. No Lost Girls."

"Oh, no, don't say that! There were Lost Girls, Ollie, that much we know. And," Sylvia paused, thoughtfully. "Maybe we're the Lost Girls, now, yeah?"

"Aren't we here to be mothers?"

"Well, maybe that was the original idea, but it's changed a bit, innit? I mean, I don't know about you, but I haven't done much mothering since I been here."

"No, I haven't either, have I?"

"Ha! You? You're practically another Peter Pan himself!"

Olivia pursed her lips in thought. "It's horrid to think of Hattie as right, innit?" she said at last, laughing when Sylvia did. "Anyway, I suppose that's right, we are rather like Lost Girls."

"So there's Lost Boys and Lost Girls...well, we're all just Lost, then!"

The name stuck, once the twins tried it out on the children. First Nym arrived at the beach with a honeycomb to share, and though he seemed dubious about accepting new Lost Girls and a new title all at once, he came round on it once the braves and Tiger Buds showed up and expressed their enthusiasm. Then the game of tag wound its way back to the beach and the players (minus Peter, who had been detained over at the mermaid lagoon) got behind it all as well. As it was time for lunch, the whole group went back to the loft to tell the mothers, who thought the idea was just splendid, and when Peter arrived, they all let Penny tell him about it. He looked for a moment in silence at the boys and girls seated at the table, watching him anxiously, and the mothers standing behind them, wringing their hands, and then he smiled and sprang into the air, crowing. "We're all Lost!" he cried, and the Lost cheered and clapped and crowed until the mothers threatened to take away their lunches.

­

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**­­& now a word from our author**: well, hi! the only thing i really need to mention is the pirate song. it's actually a mash-up of two songs found on "A Pirate I was Meant to Be," from the game series Monkey Island, & "A Children's Pirate Shanty**"** by Mark "Cap'n Slappy" Summers. i wanted something light & fluffy that you wouldn't need to be three sheets in the wind & feeling raunchy to want to sing (i.e. friggin' in the riggin'). anyway, i'm going to try to keep these coming as quickly as i can, but i'm beat right now. i hope these were up to par! review 'em if you read 'em! 


	7. Changes of Scenery

Summary: The fate of the Darling women proves inescapable, even to those who do not have daughters. The orphans of the Neverland Orphanage are swept away by Peter Pan, despite a Darling's best efforts to prevent just that. This story is based on the book by JM Barrie, not any of the movies. The rating has been cranked up because later chapters will be dealing with violence & other non-K things.

Disclaimer: While the characters of the Neverland Orphanage, the descendants of John & Michael, & the new generation of Neverland inhabitants are of my own creation, Peter, Wendy, John, Michael, Wendy's daughter & Wendy's granddaughter, Smee, Tiger Lily, & anyone you recognize from Peter Pan are all belonging to JM Barrie.

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Chapter Seven: Changes of Scenery

The lady wasn't a talker, that much was clear.

Unfortunately, Mick thought, little else about her was so readily apparent, and she did not seem about to offer any explanations for the need of a twelve-seat van to transport only herself halfway across London. It hardly seemed convenient, for her or for him. She had to pay for eleven unused seats and he had to navigate the cumbersome van around tight corners, ease it through crowds of pedal-happy motorists eager to get to work early, and dodge potholes and uneven pavement, no small feat in this hulking vehicle. More than once, Mick opened his mouth to address the lady, but everything from attempts at casual chatter to snappy complaints died in his throat when he glanced her way.

She was sitting very still on the passenger side, her back held straight against the seat as if glued there, but still she managed to turn just slightly away from him. Her head was dipped toward the window and her legs, pressed demurely together, were angled in the same direction so that she was subtly curled toward the door. With her chin tucked into her shoulder, a sheet of thick red hair fell down to shield her face and most of her torso from his view. Even as she sat beside him, she was curtained off, completely apart.

At a red light, Mick studied her as best he could out the corner of his eye. A shadow cast by a large truck rumbling next to them turned the window into a translucent mirror, allowing Mick to see the lady's ghostly reflection. She looked blank, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused, her lips troubled by neither smile nor frown. The neutrality of her face was nearly perfect, nearly peaceful, except for some touch of melancholy that Mick couldn't place. It was as if a sadness had somehow inexplicably manifested on the surface of her features. The truck pulled away, wiping her reflection from the glass, and Mick turned his eyes back to the road and waited for the light to change.

Many red lights later, she drew back the curtain of hair, startling Mick with a low murmur.

"This corner up here is fine."

Mick gave a small start, and was even more surprised when he found her looking directly at him, her face unshrouded and visible, and smiling. Though a general sense of sadness hung from her features, subduing her amusement, Mick found it hard to resist smiling back.

"Are you sure you want me to let you out here, ma'am?" he asked, though he didn't worry for her in this neighborhood. He glided the lumbering hulk of the van to a stop alongside the curb she had indicated, peering out the windshield at the swank street before him.

"Actually, I can see why you wouldn't want a heap like this making your introduction 'round here," he chuckled. He turned to face the lady with a friendly grin, but she only smiled in a tight, strained way and paid him.

"Thank you," she called sincerely as she slid out of the van and shut the door with a firm push. She stood for a moment on the sidewalk, straightening the brown traveling dress and coat, which had seemed to Mick rather smart when he had picked her up. Its appeal was somewhat faded now that she was against the backdrop of the posh streets of Bayswater, but she straightened her hemline and walked steadily down the street, as if she did not even notice the finery surrounding her. Mick thought she looked like a woman on a mission, not to be swayed by self-consciousness or fancy houses.

"Good luck, li'l darling," he murmured after her, before turning his mind to his own mission: getting this ruddy van back to the office.

-----------------------

Allison was glad she had asked the driver to drop her off at the end of David's street rather than at the tube stop a few blocks back. The eerie sterility of ritzy Bayswater was making her very uncomfortable. She wasn't necessarily in favor of public urination and rubbish scattered across the sidewalk, but signs of a little class differentiation wouldn't hurt, in her opinion. David's house, number 14, was a pristine white building, three stories, and separated from the street, like the neighboring homes, by two flights of stone steps. Allison looked longingly at the servant's entrance on the street level, but proceeded through the front gate with a sigh.

By the time she reached the door, she deeply regretted her choice of shoes and wondered why she had not just ditched her overnight bag after the first flight. She dumped the bag beside her on the welcome mat, resisting the urge to hurl it down to the street, and massaged tentatively at her shoulder. She could feel an indent left by the bag's strap and poked at it gently, allowing herself a few winces before straightening up and ringing the bell.

The servant who opened the door was dressed in a matching dress and jacket similar to Allison's own. She surveyed Allison with poorly disguised contempt until Allison cleared her throat.

"My name is Allison Darling. I'm here to see Da – Mr. Rochester. He's expecting me," Allison hesitated there, wondering if that was enough information. Deciding that it had bee sufficient, she closed her mouth with a click and nodded.

The servant looked at her in a bemused sort of way before standing aside and allowing her to enter the house. Allison got a quick glimpse of the foyer before her name being called distracted her.

"Allison!" David came striding down the stairs in a brown suit, opening his arms in a way that was half-welcoming, half-presenting himself.

Smiling, Allison stepped forward to meet him at the foot of the stairs and accept his kiss on her cheek. "Hello, David," she said warmly, squeezing his arm in a motherly sort of way as she stood back to take in his appearance.

He was wearing a mustache, a rather bushy one that matched the chestnut brown of his thick hair. Still, he looked young, his once roundish face chiseled into straight lines and firm angles. His green eyes, the common trait between Allison and her cousins, glowed warmly down at her. He towered over her, and as she looked proudly up at him, she was reminded so strongly of his father and their childhood (the weekends in the nursery, the poorly substituted eye patch, Emily) that she found herself looking quickly away, averting her eyes to give the rising tears a chance to draw back.

David noticed the shift of her eyes and turned to follow their path to the staircase behind him. "Ah," he cried, keeping one arm around Allison as he stepped aside to gesture to the stairs. "Alden, Eliezer, Marcus! Come greet your Auntie Allison!"

The boys had grown since Allison had last seen them. Marcus, the youngest, was now five, which was old enough for him to don one of the matching miniature suits his brothers wore. Allison chuckled when she saw the three boys lined up in front of her. Their suits were brown and their chestnut hair was neatly parted and smoothed to the side – they only lacked bushy mustaches of their own to be miniature replicas of their father.

"Hello, Auntie Allison," they chorused, Marcus only slightly out of sync.

"Did you have a pleasant journey?" Alden, the oldest at ten, asked with a mixture of politeness and rehearsal.

Holding back her laughter, Allison assured him that she had enjoyed a nice trip and thanked him. He nodded with such precocious sobriety that Allison nearly lost her battle with the giggles. Fortunately, David closed his pocketwatch with a loud click that attracted everyone's attention.

"I'm afraid I've got to run out for a bit," he said, tucking the watch back into his waistcoat. He turned to Allison with a gleaming smile. "Meetings and all that rot, you understand." Allison raised her eyebrows and gave him a small smile.

"Almeda," he called. The servant who had opened the door for Allison reappeared in the foyer. "Ah, Almeda. Would you kindly take Ms. Darling's bag to her room? Also, please escort the boys upstairs to their recreation room. I take it Hannah is there as well?"

"Yes, sir, Hannah should be upstairs." Almeda leaned down to pick up the bag Allison had left beside the umbrella stand, nodding politely to Allison as she did so.

"Oh, actually, I can carry it up," Allison jumped in, hesitantly. David and Almeda looked at her. "It's, um…it's rather heavy," she finished lamely.

Almeda glanced away from Allison to David. He nodded at her, turning quickly to smile reassuringly at Allison. She returned the smile weakly and accepted the bag as Almeda crossed the foyer to hand it to her.

"Come along, boys," Almeda said, leading the boys and Allison upstairs.

"Allison," David called out. She turned over her shoulder, trying to quickly put a smile in place. "Don't worry about the boys. I'm not leaving them in your charge, I mean. Their nanny, Hannah, she's upstairs and they're her charges, not yours."

Allison smiled genuinely and shrugged. "I'm happy to spend time with my nephews, David, but Hannah's welcome to join us."

David chuckled, smiling in a relieved sort of way. "As long as you know I'm not enlisting you as a sitter..." Allison nodded reassuringly. "Right, well, I'll be back shortly, and Callista will be here in the evening for dinner. She's so looking forward to seeing you again." Allison pushed out another smile. "Well, I'm off then!"

"Bye, David."

"Goodbye, Daddy," Marcus called. Allison turned to find Marcus standing on the step just above her. After the door had shut behind David, Marcus tilted his head up to face Allison. "I could carry your bag for you, Auntie Allison. I'm very strong."

"I've no doubt you are, Marcus," Allison responded, cheerily. "But I'm trying to build up my muscles, you see, and this bag is excellent training for me. Do you mind?"

"Well, no, that's fine." Marcus frowned a little and Allison raised her eyebrows in question. "Do you know where your room is, Auntie Allison?"

"Why, no, I do not," Allison replied, exaggerating the concern on her face.

Marcus brightened. "Would you like me to show you?"

"That would be lovely, Marcus, thank you. What a nice gentleman you are!"

Marcus nodded primly and turned around to lead Allison upstairs. He stepped aside and held out his hand to her expectantly. Smirking to herself, Allison took her nephew's hand and followed him up the stairs.

-----------------------

They were strange boys, Allison thought, though she liked them very much. All three were adorably precocious, putting forth serious effort to look and act like their father. Seated at a small table in the recreation room, Allison observed her nephews at play with a mixture of amusement and confusion. Their "play" was surprisingly quiet, tame that bordered on boring. Eliezer had attempted something very close to rough-housing earlier, but Alden had pushed him firmly away and straightened his suit, huffing like an old man. When Allison had suggested a game in the backyard, Alden had shrugged and settled down with a newspaper. His face as he bent toward the paper had looked disturbingly similar to David's when he checked his pocket watch.

_Meetings and all that rot_, Allison thought to herself with a wry smile.

Alden had not been so stiff on her last visit. But then, on her last visit, Alden was a rosy-cheeked four-year-old and under the constant supervision of the boys' then-nanny, Noreen. Allison chuckled as she tried to imagine Alden at four, notorious for climbing and jumping off of things he had climbed, in a three piece suit, legs crossed as he skimmed the Finance pages. But much had changed since that last visit.

Hannah, youngish and plump with dark hair, light eyes, and an easy smile, was an addition new to Allison, who thought that a more apt term for Hannah would be "replacement." The household ran through nannies faster than the orphanage ran through uniforms. When Callista was pregnant with Alden, she had hired a woman who would serve as both a midwife and a nanny, but despite her excellent services and instant attachment with Alden, she was gone just after the boy's first birthday. She was followed by Illeana, a shy, gigantic woman from Iceland who spoke very little English and rarely spoke at all. Illeana was selected by a service that one of Callista's friends had recommended. Allison had only met her once, and could clearly remember being dwarfed, even as a woman of slightly above average height, by the six-foot tower of fair skin and white-blond hair. Alden had seemed lost in Illeana's folded arms. But Abigail, a middle-aged, childless widow, was cradling Alden by the next Christmas, and she was soon let go in favor of Susan, whose place was taken by Renata, who was followed by two or three or four others, the names of whom Allison could not recall, before Noreen came to work for the family.

The family had moved that year to Spain, where Eliezer had been born, and where Callista had longed to return. They came back to London a year later, sans Noreen but with a new nanny, Larissa, and a new child. After a party in honor of Marcus, Allison saw David only sporadically throughout the years – he was an enthusiastic supporter of the orphanage and in addition to his generous contributions, he often stopped in to visit the children or hand-deliver newly donated resources. The children adored David, especially when he showed up as Father Christmas around the winter holidays. Most of the older girls harbored crushes on David, and Allison was fairly convinced that Holly was carrying a torch as well.

But David seemed different, as well. The mustache was certainly new, Allison mused, watching absently as Alden laid the newspaper along his crossed leg and accepted the glass of juice Hannah handed him without looking up. Hannah then leaned down to Allison, asking if she would not mind keeping an eye on things while she fetched something-or-other. Allison nodded politely, barely listening, and rushed back to her thoughts. She nearly snorted with laughter as she pictured Holly's reaction to the new facial hair. It could go either way, really.

It was more than the mustache, though. Something about David seemed…blank. _Yes, blank_, she thought. _A bit too perfect, a bit too shiny…manicured._ "Distant," she murmured aloud.

A trumpet blared, suddenly, startling Allison out of her musings. Alden looked up from the paper irritably, setting his juice glass down on the table with an annoyed _click_.

"Eliezer," he huffed.

Eliezer turned over his shoulder from the far corner of the nursery, where he had been fiddling with an old radio that was generally accepted as broken. He beamed at the startled occupants of the playroom as the speaker choked out a deafening dance number, mixing in intermissions of static. Allison thought it sounded like a big brass band was being trod upon violently, and she could not help grinning at Eliezer's pride.

Alden was scowling, folding up the newspaper in a most official and serious manner, but before he could deliver a lecture, Allison leapt up from her seat and caught Marcus under the arms. She lifted him clean off the floor, away from the encyclopedia he had been pretending to read, and whirled him around. He looked at his aunt in shock, staring with wide eyes at her delighted smile as she asked, "May I have this dance?"

Without waiting for an answer, or even for the surprise on Marcus' round face to fade, Allison had clasped one of his small hands in her own, holding their arms out in fine form. Securing one arm around his waist, she leaned a little closer to him. "I'll lead, shall I?" And then they were off, twirling about the playroom. Allison swept around the table, where Alden sat gaping at their grossly inappropriate behavior, and threw in a bit of shimmying and shaking. By the time they had danced over to the window, Marcus was giggling and waved over Allison's shoulder at Alden, who sharply closed his open mouth into a frown. Eliezer, not to be left out, had jumped up from the radio and found a space in the center of the room, where he was dancing erratically on his own. Allison could hardly keep dancing when she saw Eliezer swinging his arms and shaking his smoothly groomed hair out of place, kicking his feet out every which way. Doubling over, Allison set Marcus down and he sprang from her arms, pulling her by the hand over to Eliezer.

"Follow me, Auntie Allison! Follow," he cried, and took off hopping and wiggling in a circle around Eliezer, who was deeply engrossed in his own dancing. Allison obediently mimicked Marcus and followed him around the circle, shaking and clapping and jumping as he did. The three were so involved in their fun that no one noticed when Alden gave an exasperated sigh and laid his head in his hands.

Nor did they notice Hannah's approaching footsteps. "What is all this rack –" The words fell short as Hannah swung open the door, balancing a tea tray that slipped dangerously sideways as she surveyed the scene with wide eyes. Allison had caught up both Eliezer and Marcus and was swaying and stepping with one nephew on each hip. The shirts of both boys had come untucked and their hair bore no sign of the careful smoothing and styling that had been evident before Hannah left. Eliezer was hanging nearly upside down from Allison's hip, his jacket dangling from one arm. Marcus had lost a shoe, and the remaining one threatened to fall at every rhythmic kick of his leg.

Allison kept twirling, swinging Eliezer and Marcus around until they were too breathless to even giggle, as Hannah broke out of her horrified trance and rushed forward into the nursery. She threw the tea tray down onto the table and, without bothering to see if anything had broken or spilled, she dashed toward the crackling, blaring radio and wrenched the knob to the off position.

The silence startled even Hannah, and froze Allison in mid-step. "Aw," Marcus moaned, sadly, as Allison faltered, regained her balance, and turned to face Hannah. With Marcus' forlorn gaze, Allison's puzzlement, and Eliezer regarding her upside down, it was as if Hannah were facing a three-headed, many-limbed monster. Bravely, she charged at it head-on.

"Oh, oh, dear. Alden! Alden, please, find Marcus' shoe, and quickly!" Hannah grasped Marcus under the arms and pulled him off of Allison's hip, standing him on the table. She looked frantic as she began tucking his shirt in, but Marcus held his arms helpfully out of the way, his face expressing a bored sort of patience. "Eliezer," she called over her shoulder. "Come on, Eliezer!"

Allison tore her eyes away from Marcus being put back together on the table when she felt Eliezer moving on her other side. With a compliant sigh, he grasped onto the edge of a bookshelf behind him and neatly tumbled right out of Allison's arm, though he left his jacket behind. Still confused, slightly impressed, Allison retrieved the jacket and shook it out straight. She held it out for Eliezer to shrug into and looked back over her shoulder at Hannah and Marcus.

Hannah had turned her attentions to Marcus' hair. She pulled a comb out from a pocket in her jacket and attacked the mop of brown hair that hung loosely across Marcus' forehead. Marcus allowed the comb to pull his head back and forth on his loose neck, standing relaxed and compliant as Hannah fussed and fretted. She kept murmuring in worried tones, pausing only when Alden returned triumphantly from under the bed with Marcus' shoe. Like a horse being groomed, Marcus wordlessly shifted his weight and raised the shoeless foot off the table, balancing against Hannah patiently as Alden replaced the lost shoe.

Eliezer, meanwhile, had climbed up onto the seat of a vanity across the room and produced a comb from one of the drawers. Leaning toward the mirror, he closed one eye and held the comb at arm's length, sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth. He winked at Allison's reflection in the mirror and grinned when she smiled at his impression of a painter, but then he settled into combing and parting his mussed hair. Expertly, he shaped the tousled mess into the same slick style he had worn when Allison had first arrived. Once finished, he gave himself a final look, turning his head to get a view of the sides, and returned the comb to its drawer with a satisfied nod.

"Boys!" Hannah called. "Oh, oh dear. Boys! Come on!"

Eliezer turned with a mock flourish and sprang off the vanity seat. He trotted over to Hannah and fell into line between Alden and Marcus, whom Hannah had just lifted from the table and set down. When released from Hannah's grip, Marcus stood like a stuffed toy balanced on its legs. The three boys held the same excellent posture they had displayed when they first greeted Allison, while Hannah looked them over and wrung her hands fretfully.

"Yes, yes, I suppose this will do," she muttered, her eyes darting over every inch of the three boys. "Alright!" she cried, louder. "Downstairs to Almeda, now, boys! Alden, you lead."

They turned and marched to the door, leaving Hannah frazzled, and Allison completely bewildered.

"Hannah?" Allison ventured, still gazing in confusion at the door through which the boys had left.

Hannah did not reply, though Allison could still hear her troubled murmurs. Allison turned away from the door to find Hannah muttering as she wiped off the table with the skirt of her dress, gathering up Alden's newspaper and stooping to lift the tea tray, but then pausing with the tray just off the table and turning to look at the rest of the playroom. With a heavy sigh, she dropped the tea tray and bustled over to the corner where Eliezer had been fiddling with the radio. Allison followed, stopping to pick up Marcus' forgotten encyclopedia (which he had been looking at sideways) and tuck it back into the open space in the bookshelf.

Hannah was still mumbling to herself as she surveyed Eliezer's damage. Allison knelt by the resurrected radio and began collecting the various makeshift tools that Eliezer had used to repair the radio. She worked silently, and it seemed to soothe Hannah, whose mutters quieted as she moved away to straighten up the rest of the relatively spotless playroom.

"It's not me, you know," said Hannah, after a few lengthy moments of silence. Allison turned over her shoulder, her hands full of writing implements, bits of wire, and a chipped letter opener. Hannah had dropped into one of the small chairs at the miniature table, and sat frowning while she absently straightened up the contents of the tea tray. "I'm not so strict about all this," she gestured with a teaspoon to the nursery. "Neatness and all, I mean." (She was a bit nervous and rambling, embarrassed even, because she really did want Allison to like her.)

"It's alright, Hannah," Allison said, brightly, standing up and relocating to the chair across from Hannah's. She smiled sweetly at the nanny, who returned a weak but hopeful grimace. (Allison really did like Hannah.) "I understand," she continued. "I know Callista can run a rather tight ship when it comes to appearance. Why, I remember one Christmas –"

"Oh, well –" Hannah interjected, then faltered. "That is, yes, Missus Rochester can be very particular about the boys' attire and grooming. But most of these rules, especially about the playroom, well, they're from _Mister_ Rochester."

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A/N: fixed the spacing! the editor & i were having a fight about hr's & sectioning off parts of the chapter. hopefully it's easier to read now. 


	8. Catching Up

Summary: The fate of the Darling women proves inescapable, even to those who do not have daughters. The orphans of the Neverland Orphanage are swept away by Peter Pan, despite a Darling's best efforts to prevent just that. This story is based on the book by JM Barrie, not any of the movies. The rating has been cranked up because later chapters will be dealing with violence & other non-K things.

Disclaimer: While the characters of the Neverland Orphanage, the descendants of John & Michael, & the new generation of Neverland inhabitants are of my own creation, anyone you recognize from Peter Pan belongs to JM Barrie.

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Chapter Eight: Catching Up

"So, everything, the suits and the stuffy playtime, all of that – that's all David?" Allison's wide eyes gleamed in the light that spilled from the kitchen into the alcove where she was nestled with Hannah and a fresh tea tray. Almeda and the boys were taking their tea, quietly, in the dining room, so Hannah had agreed to satiate Allison's curiosity by taking tea with her.

Allison had many questions, having been completely taken aback by the news that David was responsible for the strict rules his sons followed, which was all a pleasant surprise for Hannah. She was thrilled by the attention Allison's questions afforded her, not to mention her position of relative power. Of course, there was also the appeal of a companion. Almeda was not exactly what Hannah would consider amiable, and she certainly was not one to indulge in gossip, at least not with Hannah. The nanny occasionally found some camaraderie with the cooks, Neville and Elaine, but the two spent so much time with each other that they had formed an understandable, yet exclusionary, bond that usually made Hannah feel awkward or unwanted. So it was with great excitement that Hannah set her biscuit down on her saucer and leaned forward, just slightly, over her lap, reveling in the air of conspiracy that filled the small alcove.

"You see, Mr. Rochester really is a wonderful man to work for," Hannah said fervently, for the eighth time during her conversation with Allison in the alcove. Allison nodded, making an impatient gesture for Hannah to continue. "He's just so very particular about the boys. I remember when the agency sent me here the first time, I was so nervous! Bayswater isn't exactly quaint and cozy. But Mr. Rochester made me feel so at ease. He was so warm and friendly and polite, and the boys were so prim and proper – just adorable! But then he sent the boys off with Almeda and he sat me down and started listing all his rules." Hannah frowned, gazing down into her teacup. "They were to always be well-groomed and well-dressed, _always_, they weren't to roughhouse, they weren't to play rowdily, they weren't to be noisy. Oh, it was such a long list at the time, and I wanted to ask him why, but…"

"Why didn't you?" Allison asked, leaning forward on her knees, hanging on Hannah's every word.

"Oh, he just – something about his voice, his tone, you know – he just didn't _want_ to be asked. I don't know that he would have stood for it."

"So many rules…" Allison mused to herself, thoughtfully lowering her eyes to the tea tray between them.

Hannah nodded, sipping at her tea. When she lowered the cup, she continued. "And he has so many more. There are rules about what they eat, what they wear, where they play… He even has rules," here Hannah paused for an incredulous chuckle. "He even has rules about what bedtime stories I may tell them."

Allison's eyes shot up quickly, shedding their wide, dreamy appearance in favor of a narrowed and determined focus. Hannah flinched, just a little, when that gaze hit her. Nervously, she set the tea cup and saucer down on the tray and tried to maintain eye contact with Allison.

Allison paid no mind to Hannah's sudden discomfort. "What rules? What rules does David have about stories?"

"Oh, well, I suppose they are hardly unusual, you know, I'm sure many parents want to be certain that their children are not hearing something inappropriate, or violent, or what have you," Hannah rambled nervously.

"Yes, but what are David's rules?"

"You see, there's really only one rule about the stories, and it's really a rather small rule, nothing compared to the other ones…" If only Allison would lower those eyes, or soften their piercing gleam…

"Hannah. What is David's rule about stories?"

"It's really nothing, just… well, no stories about Peter Pan."

-----------------------

It explained so much, Allison thought as she paced the length of the guest room that night. David had not returned in time for dinner, as he had said; he had not even made it back in time for the boys' bedtime. Allison's throat was itching with questions for David, but his absence left her with only the option of returning to her room and musing, puzzling, wondering.

So, she mused: it explained so much! What would Peter Pan ever want with such strange boys? Not to mention boys who didn't even know his stories! It was a bizarre and desperate plot, clearly the product of a troubled mind, but Allison couldn't help feeling just a little bit of admiration…and jealousy.

Allison threw herself into the window seat and sighed. The moon was clouded over, but Allison saw only the ghostly image of a chain of shadows splashed across the clouds. "If only I'd protected you," she whispered. The image of the four-to-twelves flying away wavered and dissolved, and Allison lowered her gaze to her lap. Maybe, she thought, she should have done what David had. Then the four-to-twelves would never have even registered on Peter's radar. Instead, she had raised a flock of darling mothers that must have called out to Peter's very soul: come for us, take us with you. How could he be expected to resist girls so well-versed in his own history? "_Mea culpa_," she murmured, drawing her knees up under her chin.

And yet, they were such strange boys! Alden's strict adherence to "proper" behavior was downright disturbing, and Marcus seemed, to Allison, depressingly resigned to the rules. Even Eliezer's playfulness was fleeting, and only sensational in light of the oppressive atmosphere of the house. In any other environment, he could be considered obedient to the point of dullness. Allison found most strange their tendency to control one another, particularly Alden's insistence that his brothers adhere to the rules. She had expected them to show some conspiratory bond to help each other cheat the rules, but they had apparently had these procedures so deeply drilled into them that none of the boys was willing to let the rules go unheeded. Peculiar, Allison mused.

She wondered how fair it was for David to raise such strange, stunted children. Though she could hardly blame him, after what happened to Emily –

_Emily_, Allison thought, standing suddenly from her seat at the window. _What has he told them about Emily._

The great clock in the front hall chimed midnight. Allison listened to its proclamation as if it were an offer being posed, and pushed away her thoughts long enough to decide to go to bed. She would ambush David at breakfast the next morning, she promised herself, before sinking into the soft, cool sheets of the guest bed. Callista really did have exquisite taste, Allison thought, trying to prolong the dreams about Emily as long as she could.

-----------------------

Almeda sighed as the footsteps pounding over her head set the china trembling in its hutch. She gestured to the maid clearing the plates to leave the food dishes and began setting a clean place at the table. The maid hid a smile as the footsteps grew louder, and caused more tinkling and shivering in the hutch, but Almeda's face portrayed what would have been exasperation, were it not so decorated with boredom. The maid, on the other hand, could hardly suppress her giggle when the steps racing down the stairs returned from a sudden pause with a loud thud as the runner landed a jump onto the foyer floor. Almeda rolled her eyes as she heard the scullery boy's laughter carry all the way from the back of the house.

The maid and Almeda finished with the table as the steps came rushing down the hall, and were standing politely by the kitchen door when Allison tore into the dining room. She had been running very quickly, taking small steps because she thought it would reduce the noisiness of her approach (in actuality, it made her sound like a small but efficient stampede), and she was just beginning to lose balance as she reached the dining room. Desperately trying to regain her balance, she had grasped at the molding around the door and swung herself into the room, colliding hard with the doorframe and throwing her loose hair out of her face by snapping her head back. Her wide, wild eyes scanned the room frantically, barely registering the maid red-faced and trying to hold herself upright as she shook with suppressed laughter. Allison did, however, recognize Almeda, and the polite annoyance of her expression.

Allison straightened up with a sigh and smoothed her hair out of the way. "Missed him again, haven't I?"

Almeda straightened her already neatly arranged jacket and answered with her eyes closed primly. "Mr. Rochester has left for the day, Miss Darling. His meetings for the day be –"

"Began very early, as usual," Allison interjected, nodding at the words she had come to expect every morning for the past week. She accepted Almeda's terse invitation to sit down and take breakfast, slouching dejectedly in her seat. As the maid came forward to serve her, Allison smiled politely and waved away the attempt, spooning her own porridge from the tureen on the table and reaching for the slender boat of cream. The maid returned with fresh strawberries, which Allison eagerly accepted. The excellent food was at least some small compensation for David's near invisibility this week.

Allison spooned up her porridge broodingly, examining it absently as if David were hiding in the spoon's basin. "Have you ever had such an unwelcome houseguest, Almeda?" she asked, popping the spoon into her mouth as she raised her twinkling eyes away from her porridge.

Almeda looked at Allison skeptically, trying to decide if this were some annoying joke. Allison nodded to the seat across from her, smiling evenly at Almeda's stony face and unyielding eyes. After a lengthy pause, during which Allison kept the spoon in her mouth, Almeda inclined her head in stiffly polite acceptance and lowered herself into the seat across from Allison's.

"So," Allison said, after Almeda declined the strawberries. "Honestly. Has David ever so diligently avoided a guest in his home before? Have any of Callista's charming socialites _ever_ sent David running out of the house before dawn every morning?" Allison paused to chuckle, and would have continued, if Almeda had not interrupted her.

"No," she said, simply. Her sober face did not relax as she looked across the table at Allison, but something in her eyes became just a little softer. Allison was smiling wryly, one corner of her mouth turned up, but there was worry and desperation about her furrowed brow and shining eyes. Almeda sighed gently.

"No. Not one guest during my years in this house has ever created quite the stir you have. I've never seen Mr. Rochester so eager to get out of this house. Twice he's nodded off and nearly taken a grapefruit facial, he's been waking up so early and staying away so late. I don't know what it is you've done, Miss Darling –" Almeda paused as the frowning around Allison's eyes dipped dangerously lower toward her fixed smile. Steeling herself, gathering up all of her resolve, Almeda suppressed a sigh and continued. "But I don't think that you are even remotely unwanted."

Despite the skeptically cocked eyebrow, Allison's smile spread slowly to the other side of her mouth. But before she could ask Almeda what made her think that way, they were interrupted by the doorbell.

Almeda looked away from Allison and in the direction of the door, then looked back at Allison quizzically. "It _is_ five-thirty in the morning, is it not?"

Allison nodded slowly, and the two both turned their heads in the direction of the door again. They rose together, after a moment of staring, and walked into the hallway. The maid was looking bewilderedly into the hallway from the kitchen door, staring at the front door as if it might leap across the foyer and devour her.

That sight seemed to bring Almeda around. She shook her head and scoffed, though it came out as more of a snort, before tugging her jacket primly into place and striding across the foyer. Allison followed hesitantly at a distance, situating herself by the staircase with a clear view of the door. She felt as if she should be holding something intimidating or sharp, and was surprised to find herself still clutching her porridge spoon. She lowered her hand quickly, glancing around to make sure no one saw her as she hid the spoon behind her back.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Rochester!"

Allison started hopefully, stepping forward to cut off David before he could escape to his study.

"Almeda, please, 'Mr. Rochester' is my father…and my brother." The man at the door chuckled. "Just call me Jude. I promise I won't tell anyone."

Almeda only nodded politely and invited the man inside, but Allison was astonished to see the slightly embarrassed smile and flushed face Almeda ducked her head to hide. Allison's attention was soon turned to the man walking in the door.

"Jude!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace her youngest cousin. He swept her up with a laugh, gathering her close with one arm. As Allison found her chin hooked over Jude's shoulder, she wondered, as she always did, when he had gone from her small, scrawny baby cousin to the six-foot-plus, broad-shouldered man taking up most of the doorway.

"Alli," he cried cheerfully as she hopped down out of his embrace and ushered him inside. He closed the door behind him and Allison stood at arm's length, beaming up at him.

"Look how long your hair's gotten," she said, fondly brushing a lock of the shoulder-length reddish brown mop out of Jude's eyes. Jude was the only other member of the family, in Allison's generation, whose hair showed even a shade of redness. Allison found sharing her gingery hair with someone in the family extremely comforting.

"Look at yours!" he laughed, gesturing to Allison's loose hair, which had grown past the bold chin-cupping cut she had worn when Jude and Allison had last seen each other to a near elbow-length curtain. "Alli, what on earth are you doing here? David didn't tell me you'd be here!"

"Oh!" Allison laughed nervously, shrugging in a way that she hoped was casual and would not indicate her surprise.

"Mr. Rochester –"

"Almeda," Jude drawled, turning to face her with exaggerated exasperation.

"I'm sorry, sir. _Jude_, would you like to have some breakfast while we prepare a room for you? Miss Darling was just sitting down to breakfast herself."

"A-Allison, please, Almeda," Allison stammered, looking at Almeda with a mix of gratitude and confusion. Almeda nodded her way through Jude's protests at having a room made up and coaxed him steadily towards the dining room.

"Alli," Jude called back over his shoulder, to where Allison followed in a distracted sort of way. "Why are you carrying a spoon?"

-----------------------

The boys were as excited as Allison was to see their Uncle Jude, though only Eliezer chose to jump into his arms as Allison had. Alden was positively giddy, but Allison was only able to tell by the boy's constant slight trembling. This shivering was disguised by Alden's sober exterior as he solemnly shook Jude's hand and welcomed him to his home. "I trust you had a pleasant journey, Uncle Jude. And how are things at work?" Alden said grandly, and everyone pretended not to notice how his voice had shaken on the last word.

With Jude to back her, Allison was finally able to convince both the boys and their caretakers that she should be allowed to take her nephews to the park. Jude's enthusiasm, combined with Allison's, was infectious, and the cousins grinned widely as they watched their nephews tramp upstairs to change, Hannah in tow. Allison was tempted to ask Jude if he found the boys as peculiar, though absolutely delightful, as she did, but she thought better of the questioning when she considered the potential awkwardness of that situation. She did not want to call her nephews strange, especially not to their loving uncle. But when the three boys returned to the foyer wearing three identical outfits of crisply creased brown knickerbockers and brown button-down vests over white collared shirts, Allison faced that she would have to talk to Jude about David and the boys. When her nephews pulled on their matching caps and marched out the door single file behind Jude, leaving Allison to bring up the rear, she wondered if she would be able to wait until they were at the park to talk to Jude.

"Sure, they're a bit…unique," Jude admitted as he and Allison sat on a park bench and watched the boys kicking a football back and forth. Jude, an amateur footballer, had insisted that the boys work on passing and dribbling before they could play a mock game with Allison and Jude. After witnessing that discussion, Allison was not sure if Jude was necessarily the best person to consult about peculiar behavior.

"But David has his reasons, hasn't he? I mean, it's not like we all haven't reacted in some way or another."

"How do you mean?" Allison asked, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible. "Brilliant pass, Marcus!" she called out, returning her nephew's exuberant waving from the grass.

"Well done, Marcus!" Jude added, clapping his hands encouragingly. "Well, look. The whole thing – it – well, it hit us all rather hard. And – I mean, I love these boys like mad, you know? And every time I'm – I'm with someone – a lady, I mean – well, she always wants to know, wouldn't I love to have a lad of my own, and aren't I dying to get started on my own family, and – Alli, it just terrifies me."

"Jude," Allison interrupted gently. Jude was staring absently out at the green, watching his nephews without really seeing them. His eyes were narrowed, as if he were looking at something very far away.

"It scares me so much, Al, and I think that makes sense," he forged on. "I mean, what if, you know? What if he just – took them? What if I had a son, or a whole football team, and they just left with him? What would I do, Alli? We _should_ be scared. David's scared, I'm scared, you're scared –"

"I'm scared?"

Jude turned to look at Allison, smiling faintly, sadly. "Unless it was just level-headed rationale that sent you straight from uni to the orphanage."

"What is that su –"

"He can't take what you don't have, right?"

Allison closed her mouth instead of continuing where she had been interrupted and looked at Jude soberly. The sad smile lingered dimly, like a ghost image obscuring his face. "Well, he's taken it anyway," she murmured, dropping her eyes to her lap. She did not raise them, even when Jude's large arms surrounded her and gathered her close, as if he were trying to keep her from being taken, too.

* * *

Author's Note: Hello! If I haven't lost my entire readership by now, I'm greatly impressed and greatly honored. I'm still trying to get this story moving. It is time-consuming, though, and time is something I'm very short on right now. But I'm trying! I've got a Sylvia-centered chapter written already, but I don't know if I should stay in London with Allison for a bit longer. Vote! Review & let me know where the next chapter should go. Don't let haste rule your decision; even if you vote for the chapter that's already written, I won't update until I've got at least one more chapter to follow it. Anyway, I hope you liked these & they weren't lame. But if they were: review! & if they weren't: review! xoxo stego 


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